Crimson Rose
by Sylverster
Summary: He was sent back to change everything. Only Fate knew that he would fall in love with the epitome of evil, and yet managed to salvage everything in a whole new way. RonXTomRiddle RonXVoldermort Slash! TimeTravel! HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1: Shattered Dreams

-I am really bad at poems, but I shall try to write some, just for you, for reading this right now

The glass broke, shattered  
Our gazes were torn, distracted  
You stared at me, in horror  
But it's alright, I chose to fall for you  
And yet I hate fate for letting me do so

Our hearts broke, shattered  
The future escaped, lost  
You tried to warn me, of myself  
But it was too late for you and me, for I made a decision  
And yet I hate fate for letting me do so

The dreams so dear to us broke, shattered  
Lucifer stole me away, enticed  
You wanted to save me, desperate  
But I stopped you by throwing words of hate, though they hurt me too  
And yet I thank fate for letting me do so  
Because all that I do, I do them for you, and to mend those shattered dreams  
If only I am not too late

-Sylver-

* * *

He had absolutely no idea what the hell just happened.

One second he was battling in the great hall, trying to avenge for Percy, and yet the next second he was blasted by some stupid hex. And ended up into this infinite dark tunnel.

Where is this supposed to lead to anyway?

The torches on the wall were barely enough to allow him to see where he was going, and yet he did not even stumble once.

Weird.

Just as he was thinking about this, the surroundings suddenly vanished. What the heck? As quick as the tunnel disappeared into thin air, a girl suddenly appeared in front of him, out of nowhere.

"What the hell. Where am I, for I am damn sure that I am not in hell nor heaven right now. I know that I have lived a bad life, but you do not have to torture me like this, do you?"

The girl laughed. She had silvery blonde hair and was wearing a long silky dress. And her laugh was like chimes, really joyful.

"No, you are really wrong, Ronald Billius Weasley."

"How am I wrong?"

She smiled, "For one, you are far from dead."

He frowned, greatly confused, "Okay, then – then where am I?"

"You are at, as we call it, the point. This is where you get sent to if you have to make a decision which would change the entire wizarding world, and also the muggle world."

He frowned, "Then I guess you have met Harry Potter tons of times, didn't you?"

The girl, however, did not seem to get what he meant, and settled with looking confused, "Harry Potter? I do know of him, but the boy has yet to meet me."

"Are you kidding. He's made tons of world-changing decisions already, at least once or twice every year, I might add."

The girl shook her head seriously, "Why would I kid you? I have never seen Harry Potter appear at _the point_ before. But let's get back to you. Which one do you choose?"

He blinked rather slowly, "Err – what do you mean by that?"

"Do you want to carry on, or to die."

Death sounds like a rather good idea. However, why would he choose to die when he can do so after kicking a few more butts of those villains.

"Well – I guess I would just carry on with what I am doing now."

The girl smiled again, "If you say so. And if I might offer a piece of advice, just follow where you heart points if you cannot decide or think for yourself. And if you are lost, think back."

He grinned, "Well – thank you, even though I don't quite get what you are saying – "

But before he could finish his statement, darkness swallowed him whole as he felt himself falling through a chute of black. And his world was devoured by oblivion. When he woke up again, he was lying on something fairly hard, but with a slight spongy covering. He wondered what it was for a while before deciding that he couldn't be bothered. All that he wanted to do then was to get back to Hogwarts and finished off as many death eaters as possible.

But somehow, he was feeling really hungry, tired and his whole body _ached_.

But why?

He had not feel anything before. But now, he felt that it would be so easy to slip into an endless sleep that you don't ever need to wake up from.

Then someone screamed.

It was very annoying, he decided, scrunching up his features as he tried to block out the noise in vain. Thankfully, it was cut off abruptly a while later, but it was again replaced by a blubbering, fidgety sort of explanation that was just as annoying, though it was, slightly, lower-pitched.

"What is it now, Parkinson?" A brisk, no nonsense sort of voice asked impatiently. His eyes lit up. If it was Parkinson, then he must be at Hogwarts. But why weren't there giants wrecking the castle, and why is the sky so bright, as though it is the morning. The last time he was conscious, it was already near midnight.

Or exactly midnight.

'O-over there! Behind th-the bushes!'

Ron heard an irritated sigh and felt that he could empathise with the sigher completely.

'You better not be having me on, or you'll be cleaning the toilets all week, next week as well.'

The screamer gave a squeal and Ron felt like swearing at her. He held his tongue, however, when he heard the rustle of a brush being parted and choking gasp was heard. Opening his eyes slowly, with much reluctance, to find a shocked Hufflepuff staring down at her, his bright yellow hair matching the prefect badge glittering on his chest.

"Who – who are you?" he stammered.

Ron could only glare at the flustered fool in front of him, he don't have that much time to do this, "I am supposed to be the one asking that. Who the hell are you, and the last time I checked, Ernie Macmillan was the Hufflepuff prefect, not you." He groused, his voice somehow fairly steady, though a little thick.

"What are you talking about? The only Macmillan that we know here is in her second year, and she is snobby as hell, how could she be a prefect?"

Ron was stunned, but he quickly collected himself, reminding himself to find out what the hell was happening later, "I guess I am a bit disorientated, but I am in severe pain now, could you at least get me someone who can actually help?"

'Of course,' the boy said, before spinning around and ordering the girl named Parkinson to go and call for any professor available.

'Are you going to be all right?' he asked tentatively.

Ron glared at him, not moving from his fairly comfortable position on the grass. 'No,' he answered bluntly.

'What's wrong?'

'A lot of things, none of which I want or am entitled to tell you,' he huffed.

'Oh great,' the boy moaned. 'You're another one of those pissy Slytherins, aren't you? So high and mighty on your soapboxes, looking down on the rest of the world –'

'How for Merlin's sake am I supposed to look _down_ at you when I'm lying on the floor, or when my whole body is hurting like bloody hell?' Ron spat back distastefully.

'Now, now, there's no need for that kind of language,' a familiar voice said from behind the Hufflepuff.

Ron's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets when he heard that voice.

Dumbledore.

He immediately tried to sit up, inadvertently groaning in pain as he did so.

'Don't move,' the professor said gently, looking less tired, and old than he had the last time Ron had seen him. But the thing is, he shouldn't be here at all. He's dead, wasn't he?

"I – I have to – " Ron stumbled on his words as he tried to get up.

Dumbledore frowned, watching as he hefted himself to his feet, wincing heavily as each movement caused immense pain to him.

'What happened to you?'

'A lot.' Rom replied. 'Professor, can we discuss this at somewhere private?' he asked with a significant look at the two students, who were watching them with unmasked curiosity.

'First I think you need to visit Headmaster Dippet.'

Wait. Who in Merlin's pants is Headmaster Dippet?

What had him gotten himself into now? A crazy world in another dimension or something?

Oh dear, that actually makes sense!

'No.' Ron stopped him. Normally he never would have dared to talk to Dumbledore this way, if at all – respect for the dead and all that – but he had been through a lot since then and he needed to tell someone he could actually trust, 'I need to talk to _you_ alone.'

'You know me?'

He snorted in disbelief. Even in this world – where ever it was – Dumbledore would still be well known. 'Who doesn't know you?'

The professor stood a long minute, contemplating, before his eyes twinkled and he said wryly, 'I'm sure the rules can be bent a little.'

'Trust me, they'll be bent more than a little,' he muttered under his breath as he followed him towards the castle. With his back turned, Ron did not see the momentary concern flash across Dumbledore's features as he heard, clearly, what he had said with the spooky advanced hearing of a good teacher. Ron looked up at Hogwarts with a strong sense of nostalgia for the old days, when things had been normal.

But, then, things had never been normal.

His first year at Hogwarts was spent dealing with giant chess sets and getting knocked out cold in the end. His second year was dealing with the news that Basilisk was in Hogwarts and having to slide down a creepy tunnel into the chamber of year heralded the dementors and escaped Sirius Black, a werewolf and a betrayor. Fourth year he had oversee his best friend fighting his way through Triwizard as Voldermort the fifth year he and a group of other students went into the ministry and fought against Voldemort and his Death Year saw the death of Dumbledore and the first of many attacks on Hogwarts. Previous year had been the year of death and reconciliations, joining in the final battle, which has yet to end.

No, he had never quite known what a normal life meant.

But, in between the tragedies and the adventures there had been laughter and love and quidditch and butterbeer and Hogsmeade visits and Christmases and Birthdays and even a wedding or two.

When he looked up at the castle it was not the deaths she was reminded of, but family and friends and all of the good times. Dumbledore watched the stranger's face with interest. Though he seemed just of age, his eyes had a depth of sorrow to them that he had not seen since that morning when he had looked at himself in the mirror and let his mask slip – just a little – as he remembered his long dead sister.

The boy walked like the weight of the world was on his shoulders and his form seemed so frail, so weak that it seemed impossible that he might stand for longer than a second before his grief carried him down a road of no return.

As Ron stepped into the Entrance Hall he paused momentarily, closing his eyes and just breathing in the smell of magic that was purely Hogwarts. He had never hoped to see this place as peaceful as it is now again, never hoped to see sunlight or clouds or his friends ever again. At that Ron caught himself.

'Professor?' he asked quietly as he followed Dumbledore to the transfiguration classrooms.

'Yes?'

'Where are we?'

'Why, Hogwarts School of Wizadry and Witchcraft, of course.'

'Then – what year is it?'

Dumbledore's head snapped round and he stared at the strange boy intently for a moment, his bright blue eyes trying to pierce through him, but for Ron occulumency had become second nature – he barely realised he had brought up his barriers until he felt a push. Harry had taught him all that he could, along with Hermione, as they prepared readily for the final battle.

'Tell me,' Ron said on a sigh, now having to concentrate to keep the professor out of his mind.

'1943,' Dumbledore said, backing slowly away from his mental barriers, 'Where did you learn skills like that?'

'If you will allow me to explain, professor, and I will tell you everything.'

The old man nodded slowly, sitting at his desk and offering Ron one of the students' chairs. After all that had happened so far, and the thin tiredness of the boy before him Dumbledore found he was more disturbed than surprised when Ron placed several warding and silencing charms around the two of them before proceeding with his explanation.

'I'm from the future. I've been sent back over fifty years-' at that Ron stopped, his eyes wide with surprise and realisation. A breath passed his lips, before he turned back to his monologue.

'Sent back to, well, I'm not sure yet, but it involves Riddle. He – you're right professor. Riddle becomes powerful, very powerful. You fought, we all did, but in the end he was too powerful.' Ron let out a long, shuddering breath. 'I'm the only one sent back. Many died, all of them people that I know, and loved, and I can't let that happen again. I know that meddling with time is dangerous and messy. A very clever friend once used it for almost a year to do lots of extra lessons, but all she ever did was learn. I'm back to change all of history.'

'You can't do that,' Dumbledore said without his usual preamble.

Ron swept around to face him, ignoring the tears rolling shamefully and heatedly down his flushed cheek, his lanky red hair clinging to the damp. 'Don't you get it? They are all going to die! All of them! Every single family member and friend. Every last remainder of what was good and right in the world would be tortured and killed, the very best of whom tortured daily for information that didn't exist! And I would have been forced watched. Being force to watch and listen as they scream and scream and when the sadistic bastard finally kill them as I listen to their laughter and glee.'

Ron collapsed to the floor, holding his head in his hands. He just wanted to cry without a care for the world right now. He could not take it anymore. He was away from the battles. At least he could escape reality for a while. Even if it is just a while.

A hoarse whisper floated from his dry and cracked lips, 'The prophecy, it is fake. The horcuxes, cannot be destroyed. You would have to help me.'

* * *

So, how is it? Do review! And thank you guys for loving Trainwreck so much! :) 


	2. Chapter 2: Fearless

Actually, this poem is meant for the next chapter, but ah well. And it's not written by me, I'm not this good.

* * *

The Unicorn is wrongly named  
A description will tell why.  
Silver hooves upon the ground  
Wing tips brush the sky.

The sight of his eyes  
Is quite unusual and rare.  
They give off the feelings  
Of warmth, love, and care.

The mane is melted gold  
A flame against the blue  
Matched only by his tail  
Which is the same fiery hue.

The horn is the most  
Mystical of all  
Rainbow it is colored  
Magic is its call.

Gentle is his nature  
Never has he sinned.  
As everyone can see  
He's the Spirit of the Wind.

It was the first day after the Christmas Break and the crowds of students pouring in to the Great Hall were as rambunctious and excited as ever, but that did not stop a confused, quieting thrill from running through the students at they saw the Sorting Hat lying on its usual stool, looking as calm as you please.

"Someone is to be sorted!"

"But it is not the start of a new year, what is going on?"

"Not a first year, that can't be, right?"

"I wonder who would the new comer be?"

Once everyone was properly seated and settled down, Headmaster Dippet stood up to address the intrigued and curious population of the magical school, "I am very pleased to announce that we have a new student who would be joining us from Scotland to spend the rest of his schooling career here, starting from sixth year. I give you - Mister Ronald Kelestral.'

Ron stepped forward from where he had been hidden in the shadows all these while and was greeted by a warm, if not slightly hesitant, round of applause.

'I'm sure you all have questions regarding our new addition to the school, but I would like to say that Mister Kelestral has suffered a great loss recently, and is deeply grieved, so please do not pester him about it.' Dippet continued, casting a warning glance at the students, daring them to disobey his indirect order and plea to them.

'Mister Kelestral, if you will,' he said, gesturing towards the sorting hat. Ron nodded, forcefully pasting a slight half smile on his face. He had never imagined that he would have to go through the sorting twice in his life.

How joyful that would be.

Of course, he had tried very hard to talk the Headmaster and Dumbledore out of doing the Sorting Ceremony, but to no avail. They had insisted that if they were playing by his game, he would have play by their rules, and who was he to oppose their combined power and authority, accompanied by their wit and wick?

Lifting the hat carfully and sitting down, he placed it hesitantly on his fiery red hair.

'Ah, curious indeed. I know you, yet I have yet to sort you,' the Hat told him as if it was a completely normal occurrence.

'Oh no, not completely normal, it just take a lot, a lot indeed to shock me. And since there is several plausible explanation to this instance, it is slightly normal to me' the Hat corrected him quickly, surprising Ron.

'Now, where should I put you? You still have quite a bit of your Gryffindor characteristics, of course, it is hard to lose them. But now, there is something else much more there. You have suffered a lot, but I think you will thrive in this time in, perhaps – Slytherin!'

It had shouted the last word out loud to the entire school population.

Ron felt the shock reverberate down his spine to his very toes, but the immaculate, half-smile mask didn't falter a bit on his face. And hence, his horror and confusion were not seen by anyone else, even though he was screaming his head off secretly, and deeply inside.

Maybe under influence of the final battle, he was more Slytherin than he had ever realised. He stood and placed the Hat carefully back down before heading to the table of clapping green-robed students. His eyes swept down the table, but then it was caught by an arrogant set of piercing grey eyes.

He, too, was in sixth year and as his eyes met Ron's, he frowned. He glared the boy in front him to move to create a space, and Ron, though greatly unwilling, slid into a spot opposite him.

'Hi,' he said briskly, turning to look each of his new house mates in the eye. 'I'm Ronald'

'That's a very –common name,' the boy who was sitting right next to him sneered, eyes narrowed and unfriendly.

Ron arched an eyebrow at him, blue eyes turning cold and hard. 'Why, what's yours then, if I may have the utmost honor of knowing?'

'Theodore Grant.' The boy announced proudly, sitting up straighter and taller in his seat.

Scoffing, Ron managed a scathing response, 'Yours sound pretty common enough."

'How dare you - ' Grant hissed at him with clenched fist.

'Oh, shut up, Theodore.' a girl with shiny black hair said, and actually managed to silence the boy.

'He's like that all the time. I am Eileen Prince.' The girl introduced herself, thrusting a hand towards Ron, who shook it briskly before letting go quickly.

'Ignore Theodore, he's a prat,' Eileen said, rolling her eyes. 'This is Carson Nott, Abraxas Malfoy, Leuthon Flint, Sherleen Parkinson and, of course, Tom Riddle.'

She only identified the Slytherin sixth years in their group, ignoring the rest, whose eyes are busily analysing Ron. With a start, Ron realized who the boy sitting in front of him was.

The young Lord Voldermort.

Fury threatened to explode within him but he reined it use trying to kill the dark lord now, for that would definitely throw the entire wizarding world into unbalance and chaos.

Well, he used to be so stupid, but less so now, he would say. And he was definitely smart enough to think about such obvious facts. Ron glanced round at the other sixth years, memorising each face as their name was being announced. Each of the sixth years held out their hand for him to shake, all except for Riddle.

'Who are you?' he asked once the round of hand-shaking was over, his velvet voice taking Ron by surprise.

'Ronald Kelestral, of course' Ron said, adding some surprise and amusement in his voice, being a bit taunting, and slightly indicating that Tom was foolish to ask such a question.

'But that isn't your exact name.' Tom whispered, and Ron faltered slightly. His right hand under the table clenched into a fist as he fought to keep his composure.

'Why would you think that?' He asked, an eyebrow raised, looking perfectly confused, as if the conversation had gotten him lost.

'It doesn't suit you.' Was all that was said, and Ron would have laughed out loud, if the circumstances allowed him to right then.

'Should I be flattered or insulted by your comment?'

'Insulted' Riddle said with a quirk of his lips.

'Great, because damn right I am,' Ron replied icily, even as a chill of a different sort ran down his spine, making his hair stand on end. Of course, he is facing the future dark lord here, obviously he must have the fundamental properties of becoming a dark lord.

Being evil.

'And yet you haven't exploded.' Riddle pointed out.

Ron sniggered then, glancing across the hall to the Gryffindor table where he could see red hair so similar to his among the varying shades of brown and black.

"Who are they?" he asked Eileen, feigning ignorance.

"Oh, they are the Weasleys, or pure-blood traitors, we will say." She spat.

Ron bite back his retort, "Don't they look like me, I wonder. Maybe that's because I am a pure-blood, I guess."

"You are a pure-blood?" Theodore Grant sounded shocked.

'Yes. And I may _look_ like a Weasley, doesn't mean I act like one.'

His new fellow sixth years all smirked in appreciation, each of them absorbed by the conversation, even as they pretended not to be.

'So who do you side on?' Riddle prompted, ignoring the implications of what he had said.

'What side? The light, or the dark? I am afraid that I am more of a neutral type.'

Again, Ron was rewarded with a few more smirks.

'Even after I do things that might change your mind?'

Ron sat back suddenly, aware that he had been leaning across the table towards Riddle as he had been leaning towards him.

'That would really depends on whether the things that you show me are good enough. Riddle. Am I allowed to eat now?' Ron asked plaintively, causing several other sniggers.

Not waiting for a reply, he dug in, quick to appease his growling stomach. Dumbledore had not asked for a lot of details and both he and Dippet had agreed it would be for the better if Ron was introduced to the school at the Christmas feast and should be kept secluded until then.

He had spent all of his time reading, trying to see if there was any difference in the syllabus. Actually, he shouldn't have much problem, since he was just repeating the sixth year.

Again.

Imagine if Hermione see him then. Her expression would have been priceless.

* * *

Priceless indeed, but sadly I won't be putting Hermione or Ginny or Harry or Draco into this fic, though I very much want to.

Thanks to Daphne for helping me with the story and all those who are supporting me. Some of my friends hate Slash, and I love it, but thanks to everyone out there for me!

And of course, my favorite reviewers, thank you! :)

REVIEW! OR I'LL SET RIDDLE ON YOU!


	3. Chapter 3:Playing With Fire

(Yes, I am breaking down my chapters into further chapters, because my friends pointed out that chapters that are too long confuse them and make it harder to read, is that alright with you guys?)

* * *

I met him yesterday  
That boy dressd in red  
He intrigued me, an enigma  
With fiery hair and a ghostly smile

We talked, we laughed  
That boy dressed in red  
Made me felt like never before  
With a passion like no other

Before we part, he showed me  
That boy dressed in red  
His power, the one he hides  
I watched as his flame devored the world around us

Leaving only us  
Playing with fire

-Sylver-

Ron woke very early the next morning, the sunlight from the magicked windows cutting through his sleep and unceremoniously dumping him in consciousness.

Once he made sure that he was fully awake, he dragged himself into the showers. Changing quickly, Ron went to his bed and drew back the curtains completely, pulling a book from his bedside table. His dreams had once again been ravished by terrors, so he had a hard time sleeping, hence acounting for the dazed look that he had.

Heading down to the great hall, he placed himself randomly next to Eileen, still dazed as conversation slowly creeping up on them in a familiar way. The post arrived later than what Ron was used to, but when Dumbledore handed him his new timetable, he saw that the first lesson started later than it did in the future.

He also couldn't help but notice that he and Riddle were the only Slytherins not to receive something in the post. A dignified little snort coming from next to him, caused Ron to glance at Theodore in curiosity, but he only waved a hand vaguely and set the newspaper in front of him. The boy has, strange enough, slowly warmed up to him. And Ron accepted the friendship with grace, though slightly bemused at how things are being carried out.

**LATE ARRIVAL****  
For the first time in two centuries Hogwarts has accepted a student not only halfway through the year, but also halfway through the training.  
Ronald Kelestral, aged 16, joined Slytherin sixth years last night after an impromptu Sorting Ceremony.**

Ron rolled his eyes and passed the paper back, not bothering to read anymore.

Looks like the crappy newspaper originates from all the way back, not entirely due to Rita Skeeter.

'Honestly, the ministry is corrupt, a raid on a muggle club left fifteen dead, including one of our own, and what do they put on the front page? A sixteen year old Hogwarts student.'

Eileen seemed to notice Ron's sudden moroseness and rubbed his shoulder sympathetically. 'What is it? she asked.

'I don't – I'd prefer not to say,' Ron said, raising his head slowly.

'Of course, I'm sorry.'

'No, it's not your fault.'

At that, Ron glared into Riddle's eyes.

_It wasn't anyone's fault, it was his fault._

Riddle only stared stoically back at him.

'So what lessons do you have – what are you taking?' Eileen asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

'Nothing exciting, Charms, Transfiguration, Defence, Potions and - a couple of private lessons.'

His words caused several eyebrows to shoot up and he knew what they were thinking. They thought that he needed extra lessons to catch up on the work of the others. Little did they know that these extra classes were so that he didn't become bored covering the lessons he'd already taken last year. What's more, all that he had learnt was considered NEWT standard at the current year and he could easily ace the subjects with ease.

'Don't worry, Ronald, I can help you,' Eileen piped up.

'Careful, Prince,' Riddle spoke up, still staring at Ron, 'He's not officially a Slytherin – '

'Yet.'

Eileen kept silent she and the other Slytherins realised the implications of Riddle's words.

Ron just smirked complacently at them for a moment and ignored Riddle's comment totally, delighted as the head boy fumed over his lack of response. Complating for a moment before saying, 'I don't have to have any one's permission to be a Slytherin. If I even want to be one, that is.

Uncomfortable silence hung in the air as Riddle's eyes harden and flashed in fury.

"What did you say?" he whispered softly, anger vibrating through the air.

_You've got to be kidding me. If I'm not afraid of Malfoy and Snape, why would I be affected by a mere young dark lord who has yet to master occulumency?_

"You heard what I said." Was all that he said simply, as he turned to finish his toast, ignoring the glare burning into his back and the other's shocked looks.

As breakfast ended and the hall started to lose its students, Riddle start to talk to him again directly, "I will let you off this time."

Ron stood up, roughly pushing the chair back as he did so.

"Let me off? Let me get this straight, I don't _need _you to let me off. I am not below you. Tom Riddle." He spat as he turned and stalked off to Charms.

However, just as he was about to enter the Charms classroom, a strong arm gripped his shoulder roughly and pulled him into an alcove. It was Riddle, of course, with both hands pressed on the wall next to Ron's sides, trapping the redhead in a rather uncomfortable and disturbing position.

'Who do you think you are, _Ronald Kelestral_?' the furious heir of Slytherin whispered forcefully in his ear.

'Who do you think you are then, _Tom Riddle_?' he replied with power to match the other's.

Tom said nothing, but suddenly his mind crushed against Ron's, trying to break down the walls that he had spent so long building. But Ron was quick and rose up to meet him, attacking him as he attacked him.

The thing was, Riddle had no real practise and Ron – well, Ron had learnt from Hermione and most importantly, Harry Potter, whose mental barriers had defended off Voldemort at the height of his supremacy.

Abruptly, he found himself hurtling into one of Riddle's memories – it was at the orphanage and he only looked a couple of years younger than he was now, so it must have been over the summer holidays. Riddle was curled up in a tiny room, rocking slowly back and forth as the tears ran down his cheeks and blood ran down his back.

Wrenching himself back, Ron trembled as he looked up into the horrified eyes of Tom Riddle – his cool façade and flawless mask momentarily forgotten.

'Who _are_ you?' Tom Riddle asked yet again, his voice slightly hoarse from Ron's sudden intrusion. Ron was stunned as he found himself drawn to this tall, handsome young man and with difficulty, had to remind herself that the weak teenager in front of him is the future Voldermort, the evil dark lord.

And yet, he could not stop himself.

His hand shook slightly as he raised it to Riddle's face, as if to cup his cheek, though they did not touch. 'Very much lost and alone, and much more broken to what you would ever imagine' he said before dropping his hand, fingers lightly grazing the boy's jaw bone.

He felt a shot of electricity run up his tanned arm, but chose to ignore it in favour of moving past the head boy and entering the Charms classroom.

Riddle span round in time to see the door close behind the new student, his mind flickering furiously from thought to thought as he tried to fathom just who exactly this mysterious boy was, for he was a better legllimens than himself and that scared him. There were memories and thoughts and knowledge that were too dangerous to fall in to enemy hands.

And that memory that Ronald Kelestral had seen...

Riddle shuddered as he imagined what he might tell others. There was nothing he could do, for he was sure to want to know more now.

But maybe…

A wicked grin played across Riddle's lips before his mask fell back in place and he stalked through the corridors to his lesson.

* * *

Review and I'll love you forever! :)


	4. Chapter 4: Grief

Sometimes I cry in grief  
For the lost lives  
Sometimes I cry in grief  
For the broken past that can't be healed  
Sometimes I cry in grief  
For the future that seemed impossible to create

But now, I cry in grief  
For you, and that broken soul you hide  
I cry in grief  
Why do I love you so, it hurts  
I cry grief  
Because it took this long for me to find you  
And yet the search seemed futile  
But the ending is even more so

-Sylverster-

Ronald Percival Weasley gazed at the teacher, incredulity written across his face.

'You want me to prove I can do a successful _cheering_ charm?' he sneered.

_That is definitely an insult to my very intelligence._

'Yes, Mister Kelestral,' the teacher, Professor Singster, head of Gryffindor, said through thinning lips as she narrowed her eyes. Ron rolled his eyes and flicked his wand in the direction of his partner, a Hufflepuff boy who had a stutter so pronounced that Ron still hadn't been able to tell what his name was – Sam, or Simon or something.

The boy slowly grinned, then chuckled and before long he was laughing hysterically, tears of mirth rolling down his cheeks as he tried to remain upright. The teacher watched noiselessly before awarding Slytherin five house points.

'What! All that Slytherin did was a stupid cheering charm!' a Gryffindor complained.

'I am well aware of that fact, Mr Thompson, but it may well have escaped your notice that he did it silently. This is a skill that many wizards and witches never learn to do properly and is not part of the curriculum until –'

And then Ron proceeded to zone out.

_Who cares?_

He was well aware that silent magic was something that many did not achieve, but lately, he was more actively interested in trying to perform wandless magic. So far he'd managed to levitate a knut about a centimetre, but that was all.

_Perhaps he should practise more._

After lessons, he was met by Eileen, who also took charms that lesson.

'So can you do wandless as well?' she asked immediately.

'Do you have any change?' Ron said, seemingly out of the blue. The Slytherin girl frowned before pulling a galleon out of her pocket and placed it on Ron's for a moment, Ron proceeded to try. Silently, he concentrated on the coin. It quivered a second before spinning out of his' hand and flying through the air as Ron caught it gracefully again and stuck it in his pocket.

'Thanks,' he said, grinning.

'That was – that was just awesome!' Eileen finally managed to get out, 'But I'd like my money back.'

Ron sniggered, putting the coin away in his robes. 'I get to keep it for that demonstration, even though I am not even that good.'

Eileen shook her head, 'I see that Riddle was right about you.'

Ron's head snapped round to look at Eileen in disguised surprise. 'Really? What did he say?' he asked, trying desperately to keep his voice calm.

She looked at him in wonder for a moment before answering, 'Not much, he just said you were different.'

'We're all different, Eileen. Nature made every single one of us unique,' Ron replied with a dismissal wave of his hand.

'Ironic, isn't it?' she agreed.

Ron nodded and they walked in silence to Defence. Eileen seemed to want to say something, but by the time she decided to say it, Tom Riddle had appeared and she promptly shut her mouth.

'It was nice talking to you, Ron,' she said politely, nodded once to Riddle, then set off in the opposite direction.

'Kelestral' Riddle greeted.

'Riddle' Ron stated blankly, looking straight into those piercing grey eyes.

'So, tell me, are you an animagus as well as a leglimens?' Riddle asked conversationally, though his voice was dripping with venom.

'Maybe I am – ' Ron replied calmly, propping himself against the wall, half closing his eyes lazily, ' – but I know that you are not' he pointed out.

'How would you know that?'

'Because otherwise you wouldn't have asked,' Ron answered confidently.

Riddle merely raised an eyebrow at him, asking him to continue.

'You feel threatened by the fact that I could, if I wanted to, step inside your mind and take what I like.' Ron continued.

Riddle did not respond, just continued to watch him through slightly narrowed, silvery grey eyes.

'I suppose,' Ron said tiredly, 'that you want me to promise never to read your thoughts again.'

'But you're not going to.'

'It's nice to know other people's secrets, but you are wrong. I would not try invading your mind again, not that I did so intentionally just now' he said simply.

'Why?'

"Why what?"

"Why don't you use it to blackmail me, anyone would do that." Tom Riddle was staring at Ron as if he was stupid.

'Oh, I could if I wanted, but what's the point? If I do, I would become as evil as you.'

Ron opened his eyes then and looked directly into Riddle's.

'But I am curious, what could you possibly want to hide? But then again, maybe I don't want to know at all.' he asked, tugging at the corners of Riddle's mind, not really looking or attacking, just teasing.

Riddle's face did not change, but his eyes gleamed with some unidentifiable emotion that had Ron grinning smugly at him.

The dark lord was wary of him.

Feeling threatened by _Ronald Weasley_.

Together the two of them walked into the Defence classroom silently and slipped into their chairs at the very centre of the class, every movement in synchronisation, whether they noticed or not.

'Welcome, class,' the professor spoke up, causing the class to fall quiet, 'As most of you know, we were working on the Patronus charm at the end of last term – have you all been practising?'

A murmured 'yes' swung about the class and Ron glanced sideways to notice with surprise that Riddle had a deep set frown in place.

_Being slightly friendly won't hurt, there is plenty of chance to kill him later, _Ron mused.

'What form does yours take?' he asked his thoughtful partner in the moment of noise. Riddle glanced sideways at him, his eyes shooting knives.

That was when Ron understood.

Riddle couldn't cast the Patronus because he had no happy memory he could use as a base. Ron did a one shouldered shrug and placed his hand in the air as the professor asked who could cast a full bodied Patronus.

'Mister Keslestral. Perhaps you would like to demonstrate for us?'

'Certainly, Professor.' Ron stood and sent his mind spinning back to that one perfect night with Harry and Hermione, laughing by the fireplace so many years ago. Then, with a noiseless flick of his wand his Patronus burst forth.

Ron's face was immaculate, despite his inner turmoil as, rather than a Jack Terrier Russell, an unicorn burst forth from his wand. He knew what it meant, of course.

An unicorn – purity and innocence; bravery and courage and courage; and magical and fantasy.

Something in him trembled and broke as he watched it soar above the heads of his awestruck classmates, but another part of him filled with unequivocal joy. If there was such a thing as fate and signs, this was it. He stretched out an arm for it to land on and as soon as it touched him, the Unicorn dissipated, leaving only memories and a classroom full of awed and impressed faces.

He knew what it stands for, but he could not understand why is it there. He's in Slytherin. He's seen deaths and killing, his soul should have been tainted long ago. How can it still be pure and innocent? And after going through so much, can he still retain his original Gryffindor quality?

'Forgive me for asking, Mister Kelestral – but what memory did you use?' the professor asked.

The Slytherin was silent for a long while, before whispering brokenly.

"The time where everything was fine. Before everything was destroyed."

And he would say no more.

'How can you do that?' Riddle hissed as the Professor set them to their task.

'I've known a lot of grief, Riddle, but that grief hurts all the more because it was punctuated and remembered by the times of normality and hope.' This time, he could not stop his facade from sleeping as he spat venomously at the hated boy next to him.

'Grief?' Riddle asked incredulously, "What do you know of grief?'

In his mind's eye, Ron saw exactly, with precise details, the death of Hermione and Harry after Fred, their wilful expressions as they froze in the middle of aiming curses at deatheaters, before falling, eyes closing, finally in peace_._

Then the image was gone.

It lasted less than a second, but it did not escape Riddle's notice, the shadow that swept across Ron's face and the unadulterated pain and suffering in his deep blue eyes in that moment. 'One day – one day, I might just show you,' he said through his teeth, a small smile hovering for a moment before disappearing. Trying to distract himself, Ron took a long, sweeping glance of the room and almost laughed aloud at their pitiful attempts at Patronuses. And he had mastered this spell in his fifth year.

'Riddle,' he said suddenly. 'Try it.'

Riddle rolled his eyes, but concentrated and muttered the spell, causing a weak white mist to appear at the tip of his wand before it disappeared.

'It's the best I can do,' he drawled, falling back into sarcasm as a protection method.

'What's the thing you hold in most esteem in your life?' Ron asked him bluntly, his question asking for emotions, but the tone leaving no room for excuses.

'Power,' Riddle answered smoothly, never missing a beat, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

'At what point have you felt the most powerful?' Ron questioned him, throwing up a hand as he opened his mouth to reply.

'No, I do not need to know when or what it was. Come here,' he ordered and he stood slowly, moving around the desk.

Ron stood behind him, his body not quite touching Riddle's, then hesitantly moved his hand to grip Tom's wand wrist.

'Hold that memory in the forefront of your mind. That sense of glory, superiority and – now,' Ron's voice dropped to a whisper.

'Say it.'

The words fell from his lips as Ron stepped forward so he was flush against Riddle, his hand directing his as he flicked it and a bright white Patronus sprang forward. They stood and watched as the basilisk rampaged forward across the classroom, knocking desks aside with ease and sending the students running. Ron sighed, releasing a long, slow breath across Riddle's shoulder, sending a shudder down his spine.

Then he stepped away, leaving his back and wrist feeling awfully cold.

Out of the corner of Riddle's eyes, he saw the redhead raise his wand too, until suddenly the basilisk was joined by an unicorn, which calmly approached the basilisk. Strange enough, the basilisk stopped immediately when the other magical creature approached. The unicorn calmly nuzzled the giant snake until the creature abandoned its quest of the students and joined the unicorn in its dance, moving around with a undescribable grace.

It seemed _right_ that the basilisk would return to Ron and offer its gratitude before returning to its master – as right, perhaps, as that of the journey of the unicorn, first to Riddle, then Ron. Riddle watched the display with fascinated amusement, for a while his mask lay forgotten as he watched a piece of his happiness dance with a piece of the former Gryffindor's. Then it slipped easily back in place before anyone but Ron noticed it was gone.

'Thank you,' he said coolly.

Ron's face remained impassive, but his sapphire eyes swirled with delighted satisfaction – not at his thanks, but because he had been able to do it.

_He_, the man who had killed thousands, he who had murdered and molested because he felt like it, he who would be given the title 'The Dark Lord', had been able to successfully pull of a charm that relied solely on the pure righteousness of a situation.

But no, not some unnameable _he_.

Just Riddle.

Just Riddle, the orphan boy had cast his first full bodied Patronus.

'You're welcome,' he replied.

Then the two of them moved in that instinctive synchronisation they shared and sank, together, into their separate chairs, each regarding the havoc the classroom had become with cool detachment.

Maybe they were thinking and feeling the same thing, but from their impassive faces it was impossible to tell. An impossible that suddenly seemed, in that tiny, slither of a moment, entirely possible.

They made an impressive pair, the red haired boy and the black haired boy. They were of the same height, both tall, but not exactly awkward nor bulky, so their strides matched – their every movement matched.

When Riddle blinked, in the exact same moment, so did Ron.

When Kelestral breathed, so did Tom.

They walked together to the Dungeons and, for the first time in anyone's memory Riddle took a partner in Potions. Ron was unaware of this fact but still sat pensively, forgetting for a moment that the foreboding Professor Severus Snape would not be born for another ten years, let alone teach. He had never been amazing at Potions, but perhaps with a little better tutelage…

'I'm preparing to be impressed,' Riddle hummed into his ear as the class waited in whispered quiet for the teacher to arrive.

Ron half turned his head towards the grey-eyed boy, a slight frown marring his forehead. 'Potions is my worst subject,' he informed Riddle quietly, instantly wondering the wisdom of his words – perhaps it would be better for him not to know his weaknesses?

But Riddle did not show any emotion at Ron's declaration, merely staring at the door that now opened to reveal a younger, thinner, more handsome Professor Slughorn. Ron watched him with slightly raised eyebrows – his only show of surprise. In the back of his mind it scared Ron how easily he had slipped into Riddle's approval, how easily he had somehow created, not forged, his own Slytherin mask to slip into place whenever needed. But another part new that really he'd already had the mask – that it had been in the making for years, since the moment he met Harry and Hermione – and it was only now that he was putting it in place.

Draught of the Living Death.

Working individually.

Ron sighed and flipped the book shut. How many times over the past years did he watched Hermione, who had to make this potion to save someone from near death?

It was impossible to know.

But it stopped everything and it had saved so many people from bleeding to death before the necessary help could get there. Hermione was no healer, but at least she knew how to save people. Everyone had believed that Snape was a traitor, but his book had revealed so many little helps and tricks that, despite Hermione's annoyance, Harry had taught Ron from that book. Ron had laughed and distracted Hermione with a kiss or a promise and he and Harry had laughed together, sharing jokes and joy over the cauldron as they worked together to perfect whatever potion it was.

Hence he worked in sombre silence, ignoring the cold presence of Riddle at his elbow.

Stir twice clockwise, add the Amazonian bluebottle juice, stir once anti-clockwise and throw in a dash of grey salt to counteract the powdered dragon tooth that Riddle tried to sabotage it with.

He said nothing, working in silence as he relived all those precious little moments that meant nothing, but so, so much. He did not cry, he resolved not to, and did not pause from his work until Riddle slipped bloomslang skin into the potion.

Not missing a beat, Ron went through in the neutralisation before turning to Riddle, cold fury emanating as he tried hard to rein it in after the lesson.

'Do you have any idea the kind of shit that could have done?'

Riddle gazed blankly back at him.

'If I hadn't moved quickly the potion wouldn't have just _fizzed_ a bit, it would have imploded with search a force it would have sucked every single person this room into the singularity, before exploding to leave nothing but stone walls and lots of _dust_,' Ron snarled at him, his voice echoing into the sudden silence of the room.

'Well then it's a good thing you acted quickly, isn't it?' he replied with a smug question, a self-righteous smirk gracing his features.

Not quite understanding what came over him, Ron chose to punch that smug and arrogant sick bastard in the mouth, revelling in the way he span backwards from him and slammed against the desk.

'What the hell, you bastard' Riddle jumped up, wand appearing in his hand.

Ron didn't move.

For a moment the class though perhaps he had been placed in a body bind curse, but a very slow smile spread itself across his face.

'Are you going to hex me, Tom Marvolo Riddle?' he whispered darkly, so only Riddle could hear him, using his full name for the first time.

'Are you going to give me the brunt of your anger and leave me in the hospital wing for weeks? Or perhaps you're going to forego the injuries and simply _kill_ me?' He spoke in honeyed tones inlaid with poison. 'But no. I don't think you're going to do anything. I've stared death in the face, Tom, and I'm not looking at him now.'

The class watched in trepidation at the new student calmly staring down the wand of someone whose temper was infamous and had just exploded in his face. Perhaps he was brave. Perhaps he was just foolish.

It didn't cross anyone's mind until much later what a Gryffindor the Slytherin had been.

But for now Riddle slowly lowered his wand and let out a true, full hearted laugh to disguise his fear. The sound was odd coming from Riddle's lips, as though he'd never laughed properly before.

'You, Ronald Kelestral, are something else,' Riddle said softly just as the door banged open from the supply cupboard and Professor Slughorn bounded back in.

'Now what's going on here?' he asked warily at the silence and grim expressions.

Riddle shot Ron a side long look and they both, at the same moment with the same too-innocent smiles, said, 'Nothing, sir.'

Slughorn regarded them through narrowed eyes, but let the moment pass with an order to the students to bottle their samples and put them on his desk. Ron added one last ingredient and let the potion simmer for a moment as he packed up before bottling it and giving it to the teacher.

'I'm impressed,' Slughorn stopped him before he moved away.

'Why sir?'

'Though there is no proof of the matter, Riddle manages normally to sabotage every potion close to him. For you to survive the lesson with a perfect sample…' he trailed off, shaking his head.

'I've seen how this potion had been used a lot in recent years, and a – a friend of mine taught me a lot.' was all Ron offered as an explanation.

'You know a lot about poisons?' Riddle asked, placing his sample on the desk and introducing himself to the conversation.

'The Draught isn't a poison,' Ron told him brusquely, 'More often than not this potion is used to save lives than take them.'

Slughorn gave Ron a curious look, but Riddle merely smirked. Tired of the wordless conversation passing between them, Ron chose to turn away and cleaned up the rest of his things, before leaving the room quickly.

As the door swung shut behind him Riddle turned back to face his teacher, 'Professor, I've been meaning to ask you about something.'

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Read and REVIEW! :)

Remember, the Riddle threat still remains! Rrawr!


	5. Chapter 5: Feelings for you

DISCLAIMER: NO OWNING HARRY POTTER HERE! THOUGH LIKE MILLIONS OUT THERE, I WISH. AH WELL, NEXT LIFE, I HOPE.

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Everyday I try to change my ways,  
Still I find I'm calling your name.  
Try to stop myself right from the very start,  
But to be in love has torn me apart.

I've made it clear I want you near,  
That constant fear that you might leave me standing here.  
Can't help myself for this torturing inside,  
Possessed by love, is the pain I cannot hide.

Feelings, reach out and hold me  
Hold me close by your side.

So you see you've become a part of me  
A part that helps me to live and breathe.  
Now you've gone I need you more and more each day  
A selfish need that won't go away

Ron walked into the Great Hall and sat down between Theodore and Eileen, staring at the empty space opposite him.

'So how has your first day been so far?' Eileen asked.

'Reasonable. Charms and Defence was easy enough, but Riddle was being a right git in Potions just now.' He replied.

'Oh, Riddle's always a git in potions,' Theodore piped up.

Ron didn't bother to pose a question, the Slytherin pureblood was obviously keen to share his exceptional knowledge about the Slytherin leader.

'It's his worst subject, so he spends the whole lesson slipping the wrong ingredients into other people's cauldrons. He's still way better than average, just not the best in the year.'

'Why, who's the best?' Ron asked curiously.

Eileen Prince smiled smugly and brought her goblet to her lips in an attempt to hide it. Ron laughed out loud at that – he should have guessed! Snape had become one of the youngest teachers in decades and he had to have learnt it from someone – and it was definitely not Slughorn. Ron shuddered uncontrollably as he remembered the 'Slug Club' and prayed that he wouldn't be invited this year. Hearing about it from Harry and Hermione, he definitely lost the ridiculous interest that he originally posed in that horrible activity.

'But there's a price – I have to go to a horrendous club of Slughorn's.' Eileen echoed Ron's inner shudder. Malfoy, who was sat next to Eileen, offered him a sympathetic slap on the shouder as the other Slytherins sniggered into their food. Ron glanced up as Slughorn entered the hall and made his way up to the teachers' table, followed soon after by Riddle.

'Got what you want?' Ron asked him.

Riddle sat down opposite him and regarded Ron with a guarded expression for a long moment before answering with a simple, blunt, 'No'

Ron shrugged and smirked knowingly, 'I'm sure there are others with the knowledge you're after,' he said.

'How do you know it's knowledge I'm after?'

'There are only two things someone might want from Slughorn that you can't steal. One's knowledge. The other's sex,' the ex-Gryffindor replied wryly, hiding his immense humour, 'And considering he smells of at least two different types of perfume, I'm guessing he's straight. Not that that would stop you, if you really wanted it, since I am guessing that you are gay'

'Why, do I not smell of perfume?'

'No, but this table consists of many of the most pretty girls in the entire school population–'

'Thanks,' Eileen Prince inserted as several Slytherin girls who had been listening to the conversation giggled flirtatiously.

'–no problem, and you've spent the entire conversation talking and keeping a straight face, not checking any girl out.'

'We've been going to school together for five years and I am not always showing how I feel, what's to say I don't 'check them out' in private?' Riddle asked, clearly very amused by the conversation.

'Tom Riddle, have you ever – either consciously or unconsciously – looked at another girl and felt the need to take that individual into the nearest alcove and have your wicked way with her?'

'No, but–'

'Have you ever felt the need to shove her into an alcove at all?'

'No - '

'Then my point, Riddle, is proven. You're definitely and positively gay. Now that we're over that pointless discussion, I'll tell you again, that whatever knowledge you're after can surely be found elsewhere.'

Riddle stared at Ron for a moment longer, before, fuming, standing abruptly and leaving the room.

'Ooh, you've pissed your majesty off no end,' Malfoy said, giving Ron a friendly elbow in the ribs.

Ron smirked, and started digging into the meal in front of him, 'Guess that it is about time someone won an argument against him,' was all that he chose to say.

'Why did he want to prove he wasn't homosexual anyway,' Theodore asked from Ron's other side.

The redhead, who was busy eating, didn't answer, knowing full well that Riddle had been trying to distract him, in vain, from the fact that he had been trying to get some kind of knowledge out of Slughorn. Upon his realisation that Ron Kelestral could not be so easily put off he had left. Riddle had also, of course, wanted to win the argument.

Eileen shook her head and smiled a small, rueful smile. 'Whatever you're doing, Ron, be warned – Riddle's one scary bastard when you get on his wrong side. If I were you I'd leave well alone.'

Ron offered her a small smile back, but knew that even if he wasn't trying to do anything and everything to stop Riddle becoming Voldemort, he wouldn't have been able to back down now. Just since first year that he befriended Harry Potter, he found herself being lured closer and closer to Riddle's spider web of lies and half truths, of secrets and dreams.

But this time, Ron Weasley was determined to be more than a stupid, bumbling fly that is scared of spiders. This time, he would be another spider and draw the dark lord to him and his deep dark secrets as he was to him. He had already known it was beginning to work, but of course, he had to make sure that he tread very, very carefully.

One wrong move and the web would collapse and this time, nobody wouldn't be there to save him.

After lunch, Ron had the rest of the day off, so he decided to pay a visit to the Room of Requirement. So far as he knew, no one in this time zone knew of its existence and Ron desperately needed some time alone to sort out his jumbled mess of thoughts.

Thinking of Tom Riddle's diary, which Harry had told him all about, made him wonder – when was it dated? If he remember correctly, the current date was 1943, so if only -if only he could remember.

Had Riddle already opened it and killed Myrtle?

Myrtle?

Of course!

Realization hit him and the Slytherin quickly changed direction and ran for the second floor girl's lavatory. Just as he hurtled around the last corner, he was shocked to see Riddle emerging from – the bathroom! He quickly darted back round the corner and ducked into a nearby classroom, casting a quick silencing spell around him and the door so he could shut it without being heard.

This was it.

Ron listened to his footsteps walk slowly towards the door, then pause. For what seemed like an eternity, he had stood stock still, not daring to breathe, waiting for the young Voldermort to open the door and accuse him with those hard grey eyes of his, but he walked on right past.

Releasing a long breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, Ron started to hyperventilating and tried to choke back a sob. This is when he finally took in the fact that this was the year that 'Moaning Myrtle' would die. The year Hagrid would be expelled. The year that Tom Riddle would open the Chamber of Secrets and commit the first of his many murders that were soon to come.

But he would change it.

He would stop Tom Marvolo Riddle, even if he dies from the Slytherin head's wrath during the process of doing so. He have to prevent Tom from walking towards the path of doom and darkness, or to pull, to drag, to lure him from the path which will lead him, along with the entire race, towards destruction and despair. With an abrupt start, Ron stared at his own identical reflection on the classroom window in shock.

_Since when did he stat caring for the ruthless dark lord?_

_

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You know, Ron would really like it if you tell me what you think of his spectacular perfomance by clicking that button right there and type in your thoughts!


	6. Chapter 6: Denial

_A little boy not much more than a baby  
Found a rose and picked it like a child would do  
Proudly he went running to his mommy  
And with a grin he said, look what me find for you_

_A teenage boy packed groceries at the market  
A rebel kid sometimes a little wild  
But every year on mother's day and birthdays  
He'd bring her a rose just like that little child_

_A single crimson rose  
In time became a symbol of  
Endless love shared between  
A mother and her son  
A single crimson rose  
Was a special way to say  
I'll always love you come what may  
A single crimson rose_

_At eighteen, he enlisted in the army  
To fight a war he felt needed to be won  
Sometimes he'd write on mother's days and birthdays  
He never failed to send a rose to mom_

_That soldier now is coming home a hero  
With his medals to the mother that he loves  
With tear-filled eyes, she tells him how she's missed him  
And on his casket lays a single crimson rose_

_A single crimson rose  
In time became a symbol of  
Endless love shared between  
A mother and her son  
A single crimson rose  
Was a special way to say  
I'll always love you come what may  
A single crimson rose_

_A single crimson rose  
Was a special way to say  
I'll always love you come what may  
A single crimson rose_

_A little boy not much more than a baby  
Found a rose and picked it like a child would do_

The next day was a Wednesday and Ron decided he was going to like Wednesdays from now on. Last night, he had stayed awake throughout. He had spent all of the silent night time thinking about everything – about the prophecy, about Harry, about Hermione, about his family, about his current situation, and about Riddle.

It all seemed so impossible.

But here he was, trying to save the world from a mad man who, well, hadn't gone mad yet.

There remained the big question: could Ronald Weasley stop him from turning into the psychopath he would be remembered for, or would he merely encourage him? Yet another big question: Should he just go ahead and kill Tom Marvolo Riddle, and end up messing the entire time line.

Something happened today. While he and his gang was making their way to their house table, a too familiar unruly mop of dark black hair at the Gryffindor table distracted her for a moment. But as the person in question turned, revealing dark brown eyes set in a decidedly scar-free face, Ron's heartbeat decelerated.

It must be Harry's paternal Grandfather or something. For one split second Ron had allowed himself to believe that Harry had somehow managed to save himself as well. And for another split second Ron had thought that his long-time mate was there with him. But then the memories of those raucous cheers infiltrated Ron's mind and he found himself swept away on a wave of sorrow.

'Hey Ron, are you all right?' a voice asked from beside him, a hand tugging at his sleeve.

Ron shrugged and tried to ignore the cheers of 'he's dead, he's dead, he's dead,' that played again and again like a stucked record inside his head. He saw the green curse, the same shade as the-boy-who-lived's eyes, hit the boy in the heart. He saw how Harry had fell gracefully as his eyes slid close peacefully.

Leaving Ron all alone in all this madness.

He sat slowly, ignoring the concerned glances of his classmates and gobbled down his breakfast, the food tasteless on his tongue as he wished that somehow, he could forget. It was only when Riddle sank into the bench opposite him that Ron forced himself to snap back to reality.

'What's wrong with you, Kelestral? Finally realizing how stupid you were to have snubbed me throughout the whole of yesterday' Riddle drawled, all the while staring at Ron unblinkingly.

'Fat chance, I–' Ron bit back his retort and looked down at his food, which laid there, lifelessly, 'Do you know what's the worst thing in the world, Riddle?' he abruptly asked the curious boy in front of him finally.

'Dying?'

Ron could only snort in response. Death would have been sweet oblivion compared to the torture and slow mental starvation everyone back at his time had had to put up with for so long.

'Once you're dead, you're dead. No, the worst thing in the world is watching someone else die before your eyes and knowing that you can do absolutely nothing to stop it.'

'Why should you care if someone else dies?'

Ron gazed sharply into his grey-blue eyes and drew a long, shaky breath. 'Have you ever listened to the sounds of someone being tortured? Have you ever listened as people cheer on that screaming? Have you ever watched someone slowly loose a little piece of themselves day by day? Have you ever been slowly mentally starved to the brink of death, only to be given just enough will to keep you alive? And yet that will was snatched out of your grip again and again?'

Ron abruptly stopped dead and closed his eyes to block out the looks of horror, not from Riddle, but from the others. Riddle couldn't care less.

'I've seen some things that should never have happened. I heard my parents die. I watched my best friends being murdered before my eyes. And that isn't even the worst of it.' Ron's eyes opened and looked directly into his. Riddle found himself inexplicably drawn into those hypnotising pools of dark sea blue, beckoning him to fall a little deeper until there was no escape.

Then Ron broke that link as he blinked and gazed about the table. The looks of worry and apprehension on the faces of the people looking at him touched his heart. Despite all of Slytherin's failings it was, really, very similar to the Gryffindor house. Sure, there was more individualism, but there was still a strong sense of collective safety.

'I'm sorry,' Ron muttered, though they all heard it, 'I shouldn't have said anything.' The next second the redhead boy was up and out of the Great Hall, leaving a small bubble of quiet behind him.

'Well that has put a damper on the day,' Theodore said, pushing his plate away.

'Yeah, Tom, couldn't have kept your questions until later?' Eileen said, also pushing her plate away. Eileen shook her head and stared after Ron, 'Poor soul. I can't even imagine what it would be like to lose my parents.'

Riddle glared at each of them in turn, until they all shut up again and started nibbling at the edges of bits of toast. He didn't need them to sympathise for Ron Kelestral. The boy didn't need their sympathy, he needed to be put in his place – no one got to back chat Tom Riddle and get away with it.

'Tom, no,' Eileen said, recognising the warning signs. Everyone in Riddle's year had experienced one of his specialised 'accidents' when they did something to displease him and, despite Riddle's immaculate Slytherin mask, there were still little ways of being able to tell what he was thinking. When he was planning revenge his right foot would tap lightly on the floor and he would lean forward in his chair, rather than sitting straight or slouching back like he usually was.

'Why not, Prince? What has he done to get your allegiance?'

'Allegiance, Tom? Why would that guy need my allegiance? Look at him! He's pratically a time time bomb of emotions that, when it goes off, is going to leave scars on everyone, if he don't end up killing someone.'

'He needs a lesson–'

'He doesn't know, Tom!' Eileen tried to persuade him, 'He's just lost her entire family and probably all of her friends. He's moved half way across a continent and is looking for a bit of peace, why don't you just let him have it?'

'That guy can have his own quiet peace,' Tom promised, 'but only after he accepts my rules.'

And with that he swept out of the Hall after the boy that he was after. It didn't take him much longer than ten minutes to find Ron Kelestral, but that was only down to luck. As Riddle passed an empty classroom, he heard his target's voice coming from inside.

'_No, I'm fine.' _

Ron's whisper was nearly impossible to catch, his voice was shaking, terribly vulnerable.

'_Are you sure?'_

The second voice was masculine and painfully familiar. It took Riddle a moment to realise that it was Harry Potter's voice.

'_Because when I looked at you, you turned as white as a sheet.'_

'_I just – you look a lot like someone I used to know.'_

'_Used to know?'_

'_He's dead now.'_

Unable to listen to this trollop for a moment longer Riddle blasted the door open, cold smirk already in place. He was surprised to find the two of them much closer than he had the Slytherins and Gryffindors seemed to keep as far away from each other as possible, but here these two were, leaning side-by-side against the same desk.

Ron was looking very pale and there was a single, silver tear track staining his cheek, but otherwise he looked pretty much composed. Potter, on the other hand, looked as though he had been hit by a proverbial naturally tan skin was pale and his face was screwed up with several contrasting emotions – surprise, grief and that overwhelmingly Gryffindor emotion, pity.

Upon Riddle's entrance the seventh year looked up, trying and failing to mask his emotions while Ron just continued to stare at his shoes.

'Hey, Riddle,' he said dispassionately, not needing to look at him to know who it was, 'Look, Potter, what time do you finish lessons today?'

'4.'

'I'll meet you in the library at 4.30 then, is that alright?'

'Yeah, sure.'

The Gryffindor boy looked up at Riddle and, upon seeing his furious gaze, offered to stay, 'are you going to be alright, here? W_ith him?'_ He continued silently, though all three of them heard it.

Ron nodded. 'I'll be fine. See you later.'

Potter moved across the room, his gaze moving from Riddle to Ron with concern – surely it wasn't safe to leave them together? But, no, they were both Slytherins, they wouldn't attack each other… would they? He left before he could change his mind.

'A Slytherin befriending a Gryffindor? What has the world come to?' Riddle hissed through his teeth, handsome face distorted in white hot fury.

'What do you want Riddle?' Ron asked tiredly.

Riddle laughed humourlessly. 'Oh, so now it's about what I want?'

Ron finally looked at him, piercing blue eyes still swirling with that emotion he couldn't put a name to. 'In your self-evolved little world, when _isn't_ it about you?' he demanded of him, voice sugar-sweet.

'You speak out of line, you filth.'

At that Ron laughed out loud, and though it sounded true there was a hysterical edge to it.

'Filth? That's low, Riddle, considering your own blood line and the fact that I am a pureblood. As pure as Malfoy could possibly be'

Like someone had flicked a switch, Ron instantly turned completely serious. 'Oh, yes, I know who your father was, lovely muggle guy. Bit of a sadist, of course, but it was hardly his fault your mum was infatuated with him.'

Ron let out a long, low sigh, knowing that he was digging herself deeper and deeper into Tom Riddle's pile of shit that he called family life.

'Poor little Merope Gaunt. From such a long line of pure blooded wizards and witches, she had to fall in love with the one guy who wouldn't have her. And they all thought that Morfin was the black sheep of the family.'

Ron shook his head, smiling mock-sadly at the persona of fury standing before him.

'You know that I haven't had a muggle relation for decades? Oh, yes, I'm no muggle born. There hasn't been a marriage to muggles in my family for decades. Not that I'm that fussed. Some of the smartest, most powerful wizards and witches are 'mudbloods'.'

_Just like Hermione._

Ron spat the last word at him and then waited for the volcano to erupt.

'How dare you!' Uncontrolled, Tom Riddle yelled, advancing on Ron until his nose tip almost brushed freckled one. 'How fucking dare you! You have no idea what you're talking about!'

'Don't I?' Ron questioned him quietly.'If I'm wrong then why are you yelling at me? If I'm wrong, then why are there no other Riddle children running around waving wands?'

'You have no idea the shit I've been through because of that bastard of a father of mine! You've no idea the _humiliation_ I feel every time someone looks at me! _Tom Riddle_,' he sneered. 'You have no idea the horrors of bearing the disgusting name of a disgusting man who doesn't even deserve the title of _father_.'

'So change it,' Ron said with a shrug.

'What?' Riddle asked, momentarily off-balanced.

'Change your name,' Ron repeated, ignoring the urge to say it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

'That's beside the point!'

'Is it?' Ron questioned him, raising an eyebrow daring him to argue with himself. 'Your shame is self-inflicted, Riddle. Look at the people who surround you every day, how long is it since one of them teased you about your name? How long is it since anyone dared to say anything against you at all?'

'Five minutes ago, you,' Riddle replied stiffly.

'That was because you called me a mudblood,' Ron said matter-of-factly. 'You may have the rest of the school quivering in their boots, but never me.'

'Is that a bet?'

'Try me, Riddle. I can hate you, love you, loath you, but never will I fear you. There is only one person I fear and he is far, far away from here.'

Although, Ron Weasley's thoughts continued, that person is, ironically and technically, also standing in this room.

Huh. Funny that.

'What if I should kill you?' Riddle hissed at him.

Ron gave a snort of amusement. 'Then I'd be dead, wouldn't I?'

Riddle frowned, but said nothing more.

'Look, if you'll excuse me, I have a lesson,' Ron said, putting two hands on his chest and pushing him away. Riddle actually stumbled back a few steps, shocked by his movement and didn't have time to protest before he was out of the door and away along the corridor, leaving him to try and collect together his thoughts that lay scattered every which way.

Damn, but that guy got on his nerves. If he knew what was good for himself, he'd do as Riddle said, when he told him to. But, then, maybe that's what made Kelestral so intriguing – the fact that he would not bow down to him. Although the other sixth years seemed to have developed some kind of wary immunity to him, Ron had a fire in his eyes that would be a shame to dampen.

Put dampen, if not extinguish it, he must.

He could not be allowed to continue to walk around the school like he didn't own it.

* * *

DUN DUN DUN! What's he up to? Evil Tom, pfft.

REVIEW AND I'LL GIVE YOU A VIRTUAL HUG, NO MATTER WHO YA ARE! REALLY.


	7. Chapter 7: Something Special

Sitting here, my minds an empty page,  
But I'll try, yes I will to exist.  
A funky guitar, liberates me from my cage.  
Well you asked so I say, that's how songs are made.

Where do I go when I need some inspiration.  
Love affair, jump a cliff, light a spliff.  
Simply vibe, with some wicked orchestration.  
Well you asked so I say, that's how songs are made.

Oh, searching in the back of my mind,  
Try to sleep, see if I dream,  
See if something comes from nowhere.  
Oh oh. Search again theres something I can find.  
Try to sleep, see if I dream.  
If I let it go, it comes back to me.  
You rest your head to lay.  
If you love it so. It comes back to you.  
Back to you. Back to you.

What do I do, for a little motivation,  
On a beach, out of reach, life's a peach.  
Sometimes I need just a little isolation.  
On my own, answerphone, toblerone

A little dedication, a little isolation  
A little motivation, give me some information  
In the middle of the day.  
When you rest your head to lay

Second lesson was double potions, so Ron and Riddle had no choice and found themselves having to face each other. Ron supposed that he could move to a different place, but last lesson he had taken the only free space and also, he didn't feel like subjecting some other poor soul to Riddle's vindictive nature. Even if it meant he himself had to put up with it for two hours.

Not that he would ever tell Riddle that he was secretly a self-sacrificing Gryffindor.

'Kelestral' Riddle spat at him when he joined the rest of the students waiting outside.

'Riddle,' Ron replied, relishing the word as the head boy scowled deeply, pure fury raging within his body.

'If you thought it was bad last lesson, just wait until I get my hands on the potion this lesson,' Riddle hissed in his ear as he swept past him into the room as Slughorn arrived.

'Class!' Slughorn started, once everyone had settled down into their seats. 'I have marked your potions and will give them back along with your marks, if you'd like to collect them in silence.'

One by one the students received their potions, Eileen giving Ron a sympathetic half shrug as she passed, not daring any more due to the thunderous look on Riddle's face.

'Riddle, Tom,' Slughorn called and Riddle went up to collect his mark.

On a purely evil and malicious whim, Ron slipped his wand out and pointed it at Riddle's stool, casting the spell silently. He pushed his wand back up his sleeve then turned to look over his shoulder, only to see two Gryffindors staring at what he just did, open mouthed. He copied them and pushed his own chin back in place. They took the hint and shut their mouths, grinning wildly. Ron quickly threw a wink at them before turning back around and smiling pleasantly to Riddle, who was scowling at the exchange.

'What did you tell them?' he spat at Ron under his breath.

'Nothing,' Ron replied truthfully and waited with bated breath for Riddle to sit down.

As it turned out, he was not to be disappointed. Riddle tried to sit down on the chair and it collapsed beneath him. He gave a yell as he fell, so the entire class got a prize sight of Tom Riddle, Hogwart's Bully, landing on his arse.

'You!' he shouted to Ron, hauling himself off the floor.

'You cast the damn spell and you two,' he continued, whirling round to face the two Gryffindors who sat behind them. They went from laughing to terrified in under a second.

'You knew and didn't say anything!' he shouted, his own wand suddenly raised, despite Slughorn's presence in the classroom. Ron Weasley was watching him yell in amusement, but decided to step in before anyone got hurt.

'Of course they didn't tell you,' he said.

Riddle didn't say anything, merely turning his fiery gaze on him. He returned his gaze with cool detachment, spinning his wand in his fingers.

'If I'd hexed their chairs, would you have told them? I think not. Although they probably wouldn't feel tempted to murder you because of it.'

'So you admit you did it?' Riddle said with barely masked incredulity.

Ron smirked triumphantly at him. 'Yes'

He turned to the rest of the class, 'and I'm damn proud of it.'

He got a few cheers and someone wolf whistled, though the noise died down when Riddle shot the class a Medusa glare.

'When was the last time someone pranked you, Tom? When was the last time someone dared to try your wrath?' Ron said in a pleasantly off-hand voice coated in poison.

'That is enough!' Slughorn roared, finally stepping in.

'Ten points from Slytherin each and both of you will serve detention here at 8pm tonight.'

'Yes, Professor,' Ron said chirpily as though he had been rewarded rather than punished.

Riddle simply fixed his chair and sat down on it, arms crossed and glared at the desk.

'Working in pairs you have two hours to create veritaserum. The instructions are on the board,' Slughorn announced.

Riddle didn't move as Ron sprang up and collected the things they needed. Veritaserum was another thing he and Harry had worked on and although they hadn't spent nearly as long on it, Ron was quite confident that he would be able to make it. He whistled as he worked, pointless, silly songs that had no real meaning and no real melody.

'You sound like a loon,' Riddle injected sullenly, twenty minutes into the lesson.

He still had not moved, not to help, or to sabotage.

'_You sound like a loon, Ron!' Harry laughed, giving him a friendly elbow in the ribs and chucking in the sliced birch bark, causing the potion to give off a large, yellow belch of gas. _

_He coughed and choked on the gas, trying to wave it away. 'God that stuff stinks,' he squeaked, his voice sounding like he'd swallowed a balloonful of helium._

_Ron laughed aloud._

'_Now who sounds like a loon?' he teased, ducking as he tried to whack him lightly upside the head._

'It wasn't meant to end,' he murmured under his breath, his initial grin dissolving along with the memory that had cut through his mind, clear as glass. Riddle's head snapped up and he gazed intently at his partner, whose emotionless mask had slipped back into place with , even as Ron tried to hide behind the obnoxious yellow gas the potion was now giving off, it did not escape Riddle's notice that a single, silver tear trickled down his face.

Ron managed to swipe it away in a movement to tuck his red fiery hair behind his ears, but it had been there.

Riddle wondered what it was he'd said.

'What wasn't meant to end?' Riddle questioned.

Ron looked up dully, his eyes flat and dispassionate.

'Happiness,' he said in a monotone, before turning back to his work.

It took him a moment to realise that the anger he held for Ron Kelestral had fizzled out to a minor ache in the back of his skull and that, on some indeterminable level, Riddle was scared of the redhead beside him, working away. When he was happy and teasing and wickedly childish, Riddle realized that he could actually hate him. And when he was smirking and irritating and sarcastically stoic, Tom Riddle realized that he could actually admire Ron. But, when the new Slytherin was completely emotionless, no need for a mask for there was no emotion – nothing – to hide, Riddle found that – loathe as he was to admit it, even to himself – that he actually feared Ronald Kelestral.

When someone could reach that level of transcendence from everything there was nothing they could not do. Nothing that they could not withstand.

Ron was moving silently, now, the cheerful whistling lost. His mind was a thunderous whirlwind of memories of a time that seemed so, so long ago. In reality it had been only a couple of months ago, but the happiness he had found there was gone.

Ron missed them.

He missed them with a ache and determination, that it hurts so much. He can't believe that he missed Hermione's know-it-all knowledge and her constant nagging. He missed Harry's stubbornness, incredible courage, or should he say, incredible stupidity. He missed the twins', his brothers' pranks and his family's cheerful, happy-go-lucky ways. He missed his bustling and worrisome mother and his muggle-admiring dad.

He even missed Luna and Neville and even Draco Malfoy.

But most of all, he missed the past. The past where everyone was happy and slacking around, making fun out of everything and laughing away. The past where they could go to Hogsmead together and laze those days away. The past which is no longer there.

Thanks the teen next to him right now.

At some point during the lesson Riddle started helping. Ron wasn't really paying attention, but he felt glad for it. For a moment, it didn't seem to matter who Riddle was to become, it was simply nice to have someone who wouldn't ask him tons of questions or try to cheer him up. Ron just needed to wallow, all by himself, for a bit.

Slughorn was very different from Snape and so the couples working around them could chat quietly during the exercise without the fear of being punished. However, there was a bubble of silence that was not caused by a charm that hung around Riddle and Ron's desk.

He didn't want words.

Riddle couldn't find them.

There was still a stifling tension between them and Ron had to slap Riddle's wrists more than once to stop him from adding the wrong ingredients, not from their potion – for it was his work as well and he wouldn't jeopardise it – but from the potions of the couples around them.

By the time the end of the lesson rolled around all the potions were perfect, except for those corrupted by their own makers and Ron was starting to rouse herself from the cavity within himself that he had withdrawn to for so long.

Looking at the potion, Ron decided to allow himself a smug little smirk as he realised that he had stopped Riddle doing his usual dirty trick. Though he couldn't exactly be sure, Ron could have sworn that Riddle let out a sigh of relief – though for what reason whatsoever, he could not quite fathom.

'I'm impressed, Riddle,' Ron said as they packed up their things, breaking the self-imposed silence.

'Oh?' was his only response.

'Yeah, you didn't muck up anyone's potion.'

This time Riddle didn't even reply, merely giving a tiny, dignified yet disgusted sniff that said more than any words could have done. Ron smirked at him and they left the dungeons together, dumping their bags in the common room before walking up to the Great Hall for lunch.

'You know, you're a very odd person, Tom Riddle,' Ron remarked quietly as they slipped out from behind the gargoyle that guarded the Slytherin common room.

'How do you mean?' he enquired, his voice carefully guarded.

'You have a temper that could probably destroy the world–' that _would_ still destroy the world, if Ronald didn't choose change anything '–yet, really, you're quite an empathetic person.'

'Not just pathetic, in your opinion?' Riddle asked, his voice suddenly lighter as he realised what Ron was trying to say.

'Tom Riddle, did you just crack a joke?' Ron teased him in mock-horror.

'I believe I did,' Riddle replied in a deadpan tone. 'But you were saying…?'

'Yeah, right. Well, I guess I want to say thank you, back there.'

'For what?' Riddle asked in genuine ignorance.

'For just accepting,' he whispered, his voice suddenly having trouble escaping his lungs. 'I mean, I know that you probably think that I should get over it and move on and stop being such a cry baby, but it's good to be able to think things over without constantly being told to cheer up or being asked what's wrong.'

His voice suddenly became sour.

'Everything will be better tomorrow. At least you're still alive. What the fuck is with the long face?'

Ron shuddered, tone now strained and full of unspoken pain. 'If they only knew… I'd gladly swap my memory for theirs. So, thank you for not asking. Thank you for not saying that everything's going to be okay or whatever crap, because, you know what? I really don't think it will be.'

What exactly was he doing?

What exactly was he _thinking_?

He was actually telling Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort in the making, that he thought his life was definitely and extremely fucked up and that it was all going to go wrong.

What was it about Riddle that made him open up to him?

'Sorry,' Ron muttered, bowing his head slightly.

Riddle stopped and placed a hand on Ron's shoulder, stopping the boy and turning his body towards him in the same movement. Ron looked up at him with sorrowful, pleading, huge snowy blue eyes that begged him not to tease him, not to scorn him. If only he knew that Tom could not possibly bring himself to tease him – not this boy full of fiery who could show his weaknesses with as much pride as he could show his strengths.

'Don't be,' Riddle finally murmured. 'Because it won't all be better tomorrow. Maybe in a year or so, but not tomorrow. And it's alright to be afraid of that.'

Ron, to his surprise, felt the head boy's touch run through him like electricity, even though there were layers of cloth between his hand and Ron's shoulder. Looking into his silvery grey eyes that suddenly seemed to be full of unspoken compassion, the redhead couldn't help but feel confused.

Was this the same Riddle who teased others mercilessly?

Was he seriously telling Ron that it was really okay to be scared?

Because, even though he is afraid of admitting it, he was.

He was very, very, very much afraid. Ronald Billius Weasley was absolutely terrified of getting it wrong and mucking up. Deep within his heart, he was all too aware that the fate of the world had been laid across his very shoulders and no one truly knew.

Yet he, _he, Riddle_, was offering comfort.

Riddle's hand squeezed his shoulder and his thumb brushed lightly against the bare skin of his neck, just above his shirt collar, and the look between them intensified. Then his hand dropped and both of them replaced their masks of stoic detachment as they turned as one and continued through the hallways, unaware that their stride matched perfectly and their movements echoed each other.

As they strode into the Great Hall it seemed as though the entire Slytherin table turned to face them. Riddle and Kelestral exchanged a look and a smirk before walking, one down each side of the table and sat opposite each other.

'Wow,' Abraxas and Theodore breathed out at the same moment.

The other sixth years nodded in agreement as Theodore took to poking Ron.

_Poke._

Ron went ahead to help himself to a thin slice of the cold meat, ignoring his fellow house mates' blatant stares and poured out a glass of fresh lemonade.

_Poke._

'Lemonade?' he asked Riddle politely.

'Please.' The heir of Slytherin, too, was helping himself to lunch, very much choosing to be oblivious to the silent questions literally pouring from the other Slytherins' eyes.

_Poke._

Ron set down the lemonade jug and buttered two slices of the granary bread, covering them with mayonnaise, some of the leaves of rocket and cabbage and the slice of meat before pressing them together. He held it up to his mouth to take a huge bite when…

_Poke._

Finally, Ron's mind snapped and he lost his temper. Dropping the sandwich back on the plate, he grabbed Theodore's finger and bent it in a direction it really did not want to go.

'What,' he hissed in a dangerously low voice, 'is your problem? Here I am, trying to have my lunch like a normal person, when you keep fucking _poking_ me!'

'But you're alive,' Theodore said plaintively as Riddle sniggered into his food.

Ron blinked blankly. 'Alive? Of course I'm alive! It's not like giant killer snakes have invaded the school and eaten me or something.'

The reference to Slytherin's basilisk was lost on all of the students except for Riddle, whose smirk vanished immediately, though Ron could almost see him trying to convince himself that it was merely coincidence.

'Will you please let go of my finger?' Theodore whimpered, his voice higher-pitched than usual and his eyes starting to look decidedly glassy.

'Oh right, yeah,' Ron said unapologetically, letting him go. 'Um, seriously though, why would I be dead?'

Eileen smirked. 'You only pissed off his royal highness, Tom Marvolo Riddle, by back chatting him this morning. And, at a guess, hexing him so that he fell on his arse probably didn't help matters.'

Ron's eyes widened and his mouth formed a small, perfect circle, before he sniggered softly. 'His royal highness, oh I like that.'

The rest of the table, however, seemed caught up in the fact that Ron had hexed Tom rather than the other way around. The looks of astonishment warmed the cockles of Ron's prankster heart which he suspected that he had inherited from the Weasley twins, as well as sending him a warning, high and clear that he had come very, very close to losing everything that morning. But, really, he knew that already.

'You–' Abraxas started and stopped, choking on uncertain laughter. '–you hexed _Tom_?'

'No, I didn't hex him,' Ron dismissed with a wave of his hand, before a mischievous glint stole into his blue eyes, hidden by his bland expression.

'Instead, I hexed his chair so it broke when he tried to sit on it.'

This didn't seem to improve matters. It seemed that the entire Slytherin table, and some of the Ravenclaw table who had overheard were trying to picture Tom Riddle being made a fool who had been there quickly began retelling the incident and it spread faster than lightning until the entire hall was talking of Riddle's humiliation.

'Kelestral - ' Riddle hissed across at Ron.

'Oops, I'm sorry. It seems the Hogwart's gossip mill is as potent as ever. Give it until the end of lunch and even the teachers and ghosts will be talking about it,' Ron informed him cheerily, completely unrepentant.

'I think you and I–' Riddle started, but the redhead cut across him.

'Need to have a little talk?' Ron filled in quickly. 'Alright,' he said with an easy shrug.

Eileen watched them talk with barely concealed amazement.

'Ronald Kelestral, please tell me you did not just agree to have a 'conversation' with Tom.'

Ron decided to settle for looking confused.

'One day,' Eileen said with a rueful smile and shake of her head, 'you are going to push him too far. Then you probably won't ever wake up again.'

Ron gave his Slytherin friend a small, sad smile. 'I have so many people on the other side, Eileen, that I'd probably be just as happy.'

Riddle glared at Ron at his presumption that he was going to kill him – no, at Eileen's presumption he would one day loose too much of his temper to stop himself from killing Ron and at the redhead in question's easy acceptance of that fact. Well hidden beneath various furious shades of anger and self-righteousness there was something much like anxiousness in Riddle's mind. He could only tell it was there if he didn't search for it, but its contrast to his other emotions was giving him a headache.

He continued to gaze angrily at Ron. It was this new Hogwarts student in front of him's fault.

Stupid, meddling, amazingly intelligent, irritating, spontaneous little redhead.

The boy in question half turned towards him and, if he didn't know any better, he could have sworn that he caught the tail end of his thoughts, winking at him cheekily and starting to eat the abandoned sandwich.

'You're acting way too Gryffindor for my liking,' Riddle said snidely, also turning back to his food.

'Really?' Ron immediately asked, tilting his head slightly in unspoken curiosity.

'Oh, you don't know about the house sorting system, do you?' Theodore stupidly decided to butt in before anyone else could say anything.

'_You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave in heart,  
Their daring, nerve and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart._

'_Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends._

'_You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid to toil._

'_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
If you've a ready mind,  
Those of wit and learning  
Will always find their kind_,'

Theodore recited, with the Gryffindor verse receiving boos and hisses from the surrounding students and the Slytherin one being cheered on. Ron silently listened to the familiar words with a slight smile twisting his lips. If only his classmates knew.

A lion among the snakes.

Or, perhaps as it had, all along, a snake among the lions? Ron couldn't tell, only that he was fitting into the Slytherin house just as nicely as he would have been in the Gryffindor house in fifty years' time.

'Isn't it best, then,' he started hesitantly, 'to have all of those talents? Think about it. Brave, daring, chivalrous, cunning, loyal, unafraid of hard work, wit, learning… don't the best few students in each house have all those qualities?'

Ron saw the stunned looks he got in response and gave them an apologetic, one shouldered shrug. Maybe it was too much to change Voldemort, without revolutionising the way the Hogwarts students thought of each of the houses as well.

'Look, new guy,' one of the seventh years said across several people. 'I know you've only been here a day and a half, but you should know by now that Slytherins aren't '_loyal_' or '_chivalrous_',' he spat the words off his tongue like they hurt to say them.

'Sure you are,' Ron said easily. 'Slytherins and Ravenclaws are the best mannered students in the school. You put a lot of credit into behaviour. It's all about having pureblood morals. And as for loyalty… if your name or bloodline was insulted, or another pureblood's name was insulted by a muggle born… Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn't knock that person's lights out.'

This received a few nervous giggles, but it seemed like everyone's eyes had turned to Riddle, like it was he who had to answer. In a way, Ron supposed he did.

He was the ultimate Slytherin.

No one else would dare to say anything until the only living descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself admitted to having a little bit of Gryffindor in him.

'Are you suggesting there shouldn't be a housing system?' Riddle asked tartly, gazing at Ron over his steepled fingers, very reminiscent of Dumbledore.

'Hell, no,' Ron snorted, then took a huge bite of his sandwich.

'Well what then?'

Ron swallowed and grinned. His dark cold eyes seemed to flash almost amber in the light – a sure sign of something wicked this way coming.

'Healthy competition is good. This kind of segregation isn't,' was all he said, not revealing the secret and most likely, wicked, plan that lay hidden behind his misty eyes.

Riddle regarded him for a while, half-waiting for him to explain, but all that Ron did was carry on eating. When neither of them said anything else the rest of the Slytherins turned away and started it chatting among themselves. It was not as if Ron was not aware of Riddle's gaze, and Riddle knows that, but he choose to ignore him, only flashing him crooked half grins every once in a while.

After lunch, Ron had some free time that he took in the Slytherin common room, under the pretence of doing homework, but really chatting to Eileen. She was a lot different than her future son. And Ron found that he still couldn't get over the jokes and joy coming from a mouth that, he thought, should be speaking in sarcasm and then fifth period rolled around and Ron reluctantly bid her goodbye to go to one of his specialised lessons with Dumbledore himself.

'Hey,' Ron greeted cheerfully as he walked in to the room that was empty except for the bespectacled man.

'Hello, Mister Weasley. You seem to be happier,' Dumbledore remarked.

'Yes, Professor. It's good to be back at Hogwarts, even if it's the wrong house.'

Dumbledore didn't even have to ask Ron anything, just looked at him with curious blue eyes.

'Oh, didn't I say? I was – will be – in Gryffindor.'

And there was the trademark twinkle of his eyes. 'A lion in the snake pit,' he said, echoing his earlier thoughts.

'Or a snake in the lions' den,' Ron added. 'But I'm getting along just fine. I never understood the house prejudices much, but the fact that I'm settling in so well, must be some kind of–'

'But first, my dear, you must take into account that what you plan to do is entirely Slytherin,' Dumbledore interrupted.

Ron hesitantly nodded, cheery mood blackening slightly. 'And it's all for the greater good.'

The Transfiguration teacher looked at Ron for a while, as though not truly seeing him before. But then his twinkle stole back and a smile nudged its way back on to his face.

'The greater good. Well, let's see how good you actually are.' Dumbledore took off his outer robe and draped it over a nearby chair as Ron did the same. With a flick of his wand, the tables and chairs on his side of the room moved to the sides and stacked neatly.

Ron watched carefully and then repeated it for the remaining furniture. Then he pointed his wand at the professor, they each bowed dutifully, and the duel began. Ron was certainly no match for Dumbledore, he knew that from the start of the duel, but it most certainly didn't stop him from trying his very hardest. For whilst Dumbledore was more magically adept and powerful, Ron was lithe and flexible, taking to ducking spells rather than casting protection shields.

The redhead was obviously also more versatile, for while he did not recognise some of the spells the future headmaster used, he decided to learn from them, copying them and adapting them for his own means. But Ron's final downfall was when Dumbledore animated one of the table behind him and it locked the unaware student in an iron strong grip.

As soon as Ron was on his feet, again Dumbledore restarted the duel, this time slower and with most of the spells cast out loud, rather than silently. Ron took this as a hint to demonstrate a larger variety of the spells he knew, rather than just the obvious ones that first came to mind. Dumbledore watched and reacted and allowed Ron to get back in touch with the uncontrollable part of himself that rejoiced in duelling and that had been locked up in a cell called expectation as much as he had.

It was obvious from the way he moved and the way his emotions rolled across his face that whilst it brought back bad memories Ron revelled in being able to fight again. For, to him, it was more than fighting – it was a form of meditation that took up every inch of his brain.

Duelling with someone, particularly someone as experienced and brilliant as Dumbledore himself, meant that Ron didn't have time to dwell on the things of the past. It was good to dwell, but it was also good to forget.

Ron lost, again, but at least this time he managed to get in a couple of shots himself. Dumbeldore's shoulder was slightly singed and he had a small cut on his left cheek, but that was only bleeding a little. Ron had come out of it bruised and battered all over, but feeling delightfully _alive_. This time, Ron had been tripped up by one of the flagstones that had jumped up and caught his toe.

It didn't hurt him too much, except for his own pride. Honestly, he could deal with dark curses and a few evil hexes, but a flagstone?

Apparently not.

'Where did you learn most of those spells?' Dumbledore inquired, fixing the material covering his shoulder and carefully healing the cut on his cheek

'Eh, just now, from you,' Ron said, rubbing his back and flexing his shoulders. 'Oh, I needed that! I haven't had that much of a work out since my brothers were all staying in the same house.'

Dumbledore chose to ignore that comment, taking it as the usual sibling rivalry rather than completely honest fact. 'Do you know what most of the spells did?'

Ron straightened up and half shook, half nodded his head. 'Some of them you can tell what they do by the magic they use. Others are harder to identify until you actually see the effects."

Dumbledore chuckled lightly. 'Yes, well, I'm guessing that those are one of your first attempts at wandless magic?'

'Yes, sir,' Ron confirmed.

'Well, then, that was astonishingly good, all things considered. Between now and Friday I would like you to do a little research on wandless magic and to practise as often as you can.' He paused, then added, 'I'm sure you'll be able to find some willing or, perhaps, unwillingly subjects.'

He twinkled at Ron once more and swept out of the room. Ron glanced at the clock and let out a profanity as he realised he was supposed to be meeting Harry Potter Sr. In the library right about now. With a backwards glance over his shoulder, Ron set the room into something that might have resembled order, if the furniture hadn't all been upside down and swept quickly down the corridors, arriving at the library just as Potter was leaving.

'Oh, I thought you weren't going to turn up,' he said apologetically.

Ron decided that the face and hair looked as though they were missing some vital part of the composition without Harry's startling green eyes. As it turned out, he had to forcibly remind himself that they didn't come in for another two generations.

'Sorry,' he said, gasping for breath. 'Lessons – over ran, but – but I got here as – soon as I could.'

'Right,' Potter said as they turned back into the library and searched for a private corner. 'Your special lessons with Professor Dumbledore.'

'You know about them?' Ron said, his breathing almost back to normal.

Potter nodded as the two of them sat down in a nook between different cause for boils and potions involving bole. 'Everyone knows everything you've told anyone,' he said in the same, bumbling way that reminded Ron strongly of his grandson.

'You mean, nothing?' he clarified.

The raven-haired Gryffindor grinned.'Yeah.'

'Yeah, well, I lost track of time. It's only my first extra lesson, but it was interesting.'

'What did you do?'

'We duelled a bit and then I started work on wandless magic.'

Maybe he'd told him a little too much. It wasn't hard to remember that he wasn't _the_ Harry, but it was easy to forget that he wouldn't just accept that he was probably just a little ahead academically than the rest of the year. But whatever the exact cause it took Ron a moment to rouse the Gryffindor, who was staring at him open mouthed. He waved his hand in front of Potter's face once or twice and when he only blinked Ron resorted to threats.

'If you're not careful you'll swallow a fly. In fact, if you're not careful, you'll catch a whole bunch of flies, all coming out of my wand."

At that Potter's mouth clamped shut. 'But – but you actully duelled… wandless magic?'

Ron finally understood after his several failed attempts to talk.

'Um, well he beat me pretty easily,' Ron said. 'But yeah. And I've only just started wandless magic, I'm really bad at it at the moment,' he quickly lied.

Although he had missed the dummy, Ron couldn't help but picture the tiny green Dumbledores that soared around the Professor, attacking him and squeaking threateningly.

Potter shook his head in amazement.'You really are something else, Mister Kelestral.'

'Please, call me Ron,' he said with a grin.

'Harry,' he responded, mirroring Ron's smile. 'Are you sure you're a Slytherin? You seem loads better than the rest of your lot.'

Ron felt a little awkward calling this boy Harry. He looked so similar, except for the eyes, and the fact that they shared names just made things worse.

'Don't tell anyone I told you this, but we're actually not all bad. I know I've only been here a day, but they're all so much like friends I have back…' Ron slowly trailed off.

'The friends I used to have,' he replaced.

'What happened to them, if you don't mind me asking?'

Ron looked up the large, sad brown eyes, searching, searching for the emerald eyes he dearly longed to see. He could see the face and the hair and the figure and even the same expression, but not the boy who lived's eyes.

'They died,' he whispered. 'All murdered.'

Potter – no, Harry – lay a comforting hand on his shoulder and opened his mouth. To say something, to ask something or just to yawn. Ron didn't see or hear, because he dropped his face in his hands and tried, _tried_ not to think it was Harry beside him. Then a brilliant, if slightly ludicrous plan flashed across his mind.

'Po – Harry. Do you have a girlfriend?'

'No…' he said cautiously, wary of Ron's sudden change in mood and where the question was leading.

'Would you… could you do me a favour?' Ron asked, just as cautiously.

'What?'

Ron blinked at his bluntness, before deciding he might as well tell weave a stupid lie.'Back from where I lived before, I suppose I can't even call it home, now, there was a guy.'

Ron stopped and drew in a long, unsteady breath. 'We were in love. We'd known each other since we were both eleven, and he saved my life in more ways than one. For a long time it was a stupid, school crush that he ignored as much as I tried to. Then, somehow, it changed. He made my world complete. Even when the world started falling down around our shoulders, there was still him and my family and friends so it didn't seem to matter too much. Then, one day, our shoulders finally gave way underneath the weight of the world. Everyone died. I was the only one who lived and - '

_Why is it a lie like that could make him miss Harry, Hermione and everyone else._

_Because it sounds so alike._

_And he realized he was gay several months before the war._

_Yet he couldn't – couldn't tell anyone._

Ron furiously brushed away the hot tears that were clawing their way down his cheeks. 'How I wish, sometimes that I didn't live. I know it's stupid, and I should be thankful I lived, but I miss them so much.'

Harry took all this in with sympathy mixed strongly with confusion. 'So, uh, what did you want me to do?'

'You know how I turned white at breakfast this morning?'

'Yeah?'

'Well, you, uh, look almost exactly like the guy I was in love with. And then you turn out to have the same name as well…'

_Well, Harry can be considered hot. But the boy who lived can only be a twin brother, in Ron's own eyes. _ _And he felt guilty lying to Harry's grandfather or whoever._

Ron trailed off, looking everywhere and anywhere but at the boy sat opposite him. How often that seemed to be happening lately – first Riddle and now Potter.

'You want closure?'

Potter said, suddenly understanding.

'Yeah,' Ron replied bashfully.

Then, to his complete and utter surprise, Pott – Harry – cupped Ron's cheek in his hand and pressed a soft kiss onto his lips. He immediately drew back and dropped Ron's face as soon as his lips so much as grazed the stunned Slytherin's.

Ron let out a long sigh. It had a little bit of Harry in it, but it was in a bad way, Ron decided. Plus, now that he thought about it, there was something very, very wrong about kissing his ex-bestfriend's _granddad_.

Ron shuddered imperceptibly. That was just gross.

'Thanks,' he said with a smile, not letting any of his inner thoughts express themselves on his face.

'Help?' Harry asked.

Ron nodded. 'Yeah, thanks. I'm sorry for using you that way, I just… it was time to let go, you know?'

Harry nodded slowly. 'Well, I'm glad I could help,' he said and then stood, half turning away from him before Ron caught his sleeve.

'Look, I know it'll probably be a bit awkward, but do you want to meet up again at some other time, just to chat and study for a bit or something?'

He paused and Ron found his breath catch in his throat as he waited for Harry's response. 'Sure, why not?' he said finally, after what seemed like hours of waiting. Then he grinned and left.

Ron sank back into the seat, slouching. Despite the obvious similarities between this Harry Potter and the future one, Ron didn't find himself attracted to him at all. His kiss had been nice, but nothing more than that, and Ron honestly couldn't face the thought of replacing one Harry Potter with another.

But he really did want to be friends with the Gryffindor boy. He was more easy-going than the Harry he knew – with the kind of posture and relaxed attitude that Ron's generation had lost somewhere during the war.

'Interesting conversations you have,' Eileen said as she rounded the bookcase, followed shortly by Theodore and Abraxas.

'Were you three eavesdropping?' Ron scolded mildly.

'Of course not!' Abraxas said in a playfully horrified voice.

'Tell us about your Harry, Ron,' Theodore said. 'Is he as dreamy as me?'

'You, dreamy?' Eileen asked with a giggle, elbowing Theodore in the ribs.

'What? I may be who I appear to be, but I assure you that I am one smoking piece of ass,' Theodore protested, pouting.

'Harry' was hotter,' Ron inserted.

'No way. The only one thing on God's earth that's hotter than me is Tom Riddle,' Theodore argued.

'That I agree with' Abraxas agreed.

'What, you guys are GAY?' Eileen asked in confusion.

'Oh, don't even go there, Tom's such a hottie that it hurts to even think that we can't reach there. Of course we are not gay.' Theodore snapped.

Ron shook his head and bit hard at his lip again, this time to stop from laughing. It was so much like old times, with all of the Gryffindor guys hanging around together with Hermione and Ginny at Hogsmeade, laughing over butterbeers as enemies, best friends and old crushes all got added to the strange mix that was teenage conversation. Looking into each of the faces of the three other Slytherins, Ron found that, if only he could let go of the ghosts of his past, he could actually find some kind of peace him in this new world.

Riddle was sat with his back leaning against the bookcase between him and four Slytherins who were, as weird as it sounds, since they are made up of only one girl and three boys, now chatting amiably about the hot guys at school. Although their current topic amused him greatly – apparently he was the hottest boy in the school, seconded by Gryffindor, Harry Potter and followed soon after by Theodore Grant – it was the previous one that he had been listening so intently to. From the moment, he had heard Ron agree to meet up with the Potter boy, he had decided he was going to follow them and listen in. His moods had changed, as had Riddle's impression of Ron, but that goal had not. So he had watched as Potter had waited nervously by the library door and had groaned in annoyance when he saw him leave, sighing when he returned with an out-of-breath Ron. He too had been shocked by Ron's account of what had happened during his 'extra lessons', but less so than the Potter boy.

Riddle already knew that Ron was an extremely intelligent young wizard. And he was fascinated by the little that he told Potter about his life before.

Riddle frowned.

Before what?

Before he came to Hogwarts seemed to fit, but like trying to slot two puzzle pieces together it just didn't quite match. Because although all that _had _happened before Ron came to Hogwarts, his arrival was not the reason for the change.

No, something else had.

And Riddle couldn't dampen the fire that was demanding to know what that something was, because when he found out he was going to do it some serious damage – Ron irritated him no end, but the only one he would allow hurt him was Riddle himself. Not that he had hurt Ron, but then, he hadn't been at the school two full days yet. Riddle tried not to think about the fact that he had had all of the other boys and girls of his year under his thumb before lunchtime of their first full day at Hogwarts as first years. Another thing that Riddle though, by rights, shouldn't be done to Ron by anyone but himself was the closure the redhead had wanted.

A kiss.

If he wanted a damn kiss so bad, why didn't he just _ask_ Riddle, rather than go gallivanting off with annoying seventh years… a _Gryffindor_ no less. Had he got no pride?

Although Riddle had to admit to himself that the Potter kid had taken it much better than he would have. He probably would have laughed in Kelestral's face. Still, maybe it was best that Ron got his _closure_. It might make him a little more accepting of the unspoken school rules.

For example; Gryffindors do not talk to Slytherins.

Tom Riddle's word is law.

You're supposed to sabotage other people's potions, not stop the sabotage. The list went on and on and Ron seemed either ignorant or was purposefully ignoring them. Riddle got the feeling it was the latter.

Riddle sighed and tuned back into what the Slytherins behind him were saying.

'Oh, he's not so bad,' he heard Ron say.

Riddle wondered who the 'he' was.

'You're kidding, right?' Eileen said.

'No, I'm not. He's a bit misunderstood and, I guess, a little sadistic now and then…'

Someone laughed.

'Now that's one for the book: Tom Riddle, a little sadistic… now and then.'

Whoever it was who had spoken, their voice was thick with gleeful sarcasm. Riddle's interest was suddenly perked – it wasn't every day that he got to hear exactly what people thought of him. At least, not admitting it honestly and openly to their friends.

'Seriously, though–' this was Ron again '–I think he's just misunderstood.'

Misunderstood what?

'I'm sorry to break it to you, Ron, but there's not much to misunderstand about Tom. He has to be the best at everything, you have to do exactly what he says and he has to get what he wants. If not, then someone gets hurt. Generally someone who had nothing to do with the events whatsoever.'

Riddle couldn't help but feel proud of himself when whoever it was said that. They was saying exactly what he wanted to tell them all about himself.

'We each deal with sorrow and loss different ways,' he heard Ron say.

Wait there for a minute. What was he on about it?

'I kiss random Gryffindor boys. He beats people up. It's the way the world works.' Ron paused ,before adding quietly. 'My Harry used to play very, very good Quidditch.'

'It seems odd to be calling him your 'ex' doesn't it?' One of the other Slytherins asked him. 'Because you never broke up.'

Riddle could almost see in his mind's eye Ron's rueful little grin and the half shake of his head as he was told this. He couldn't tell how, exactly, he knew what he was going to do, the way he was going to move, but it seemed as though he had known Ron once ago. It may have been a very long time ago, but Riddle felt as though he had told him everything and, if only he could search long enough and hard enough, he might find that shard of memory containing him. But every time he grasped for it, it slid further and further away.

Riddle sighed again. He had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge; toward the very unknown.

And when he listened to the redhead, when he thought about Ron Kelestral, when he saw Ron Kelestral, he knew that this boy was the biggest unknown of all.

He would not give up.

He would keep searching. Until he find out who Ron Kelestral is. Until he find out where Ron Kelestral was from. Until he find out the exact past that made up the Ron Kelestral the one that he knows right now.

Until Ron Kelestral truly belongs to Tom Riddle.

* * *

Those who have read Crimson Rose before 5th June would know that I stopped at the previously known 8th Chapter, where Ron entered the Room of Requirements as Nagini. But I have started a renovation for the 8 chapters and cut and edit them, packing the total word count of the unfinished story of 60000 into more chapters. The approximate word count for the all the new chapters would be about 1000 to 3000 ( most of them). But there will be exceptions like this chapter, where the word count would be more than 3000, and even reaching 7000, in this case. This is because I don't really know where to make the cut which seperates my chapters, so yeah...

I do apologize, but I often read back on my stories and have this unsatisfaction rising up and this urge to redo everything. Just like what is going on with Trainwreck. 

Sorry about who I am, but I assure you that I know what I'm doing, I think. Thank you for reading my stories. But of course, like all other excellent FF,net writers out there, I ask for some more reviews.


	8. Chapter 8: Broken Embraces

Disclaimer: See that funny-turned-mysterious redhead over there? That's Ron Weas – 

-Death Glare-

I mean, that's Ron Kelestral. 

-Whisper- He'd have my head if I claim Tom Riddle as my own. And Harry is his too. Hence, I own only a few things: the things that are happening when related to Leuthon, Sherleen, Carson and perhaps a few others. 

But this is a disclaimer...so nope, I own basically nothing that has to do with the seven books.

Currently listening to Westlife, because their songs just give me a feel, you know? Okay, maybe you don't, but at least the plot is up.

* * *

Shadows fill an empty heart  
as love is fading,  
from all the things that we are  
but are not saying.  
Can we see beyond the stars  
and make it to the dawn?

Change the colours of the sky.  
And open up to  
the ways you made me feel alive,  
the ways I loved you.  
For all the things that never died,  
to make it through the night,  
Love will find you.

What about now?  
What about today?  
What if you're making me all that I was meant to be?  
What if our love never went away?  
What if it's lost behind words we could never find?  
Baby, before it's too late,  
What about now?

The sun is breaking in your eyes  
to start a new day.  
This broken heart can still survive  
with a touch of your grace.  
Shadows fade into the light.  
I am by your side,  
where love will find you.

What about now?  
What about today?  
What if you're making me all that I was meant to be?  
What if our love, it never went away?  
What if it's lost behind words we could never find?  
Baby, before it's too late,  
What about now?

Now that we're here,  
Now that we've come this far,  
Just hold on.  
There is nothing to fear,  
for I am right beside you.  
For all my life,  
I am yours.

What about now?  
What about today?  
What if you're making me all that I was meant to be?  
What if our love never went away?  
What if it's lost behind words we could never find?

What about now?  
What about today?  
What if you're making me all that I was meant to be?  
What if our love never went away?  
What if it's lost behind words we could never find?  
Baby, before it's too late,  
Baby, before it's too late,  
Baby, before it's too late,  
What about now?

Nothing particularly interesting or exciting happened during the rest of the spring term. Days slipped into an easy routine and Ron gradually became better friends with Eileen, Theodore and Abraxas, after getting to know them more and more, and, after a little difficulty, Harry Potter the first.

The Slytherin seemed to accept without question Ron's need to befriend the boy who he claimed looked so much like the boy he had "loved and lost", but the rest of the school was less willing to allow their relationship.

In the end, Harry had had to introduce Ron to every single member of the Gryffindor house. Being back in the Gryffindor common room came as a bit of a shock to Ron and he failed to keep the emotion from his face when he first stepped into the room, but everyone just thought it was because it was so different from the Slytherin rooms.

After hours assuring the girls in particular that his friendship with Harry Potter I was purely platonic, Ron Billius Weasley was finally allowed to leave, heartened and – just a little bit – admired by the Gryffindors. Though, of course, they would never admit it.

Harry, however, on the other hand, did not visit the Slytherin common rooms. Ron's new house either couldn't care less about his friendship or simply would not allow a Gryffindor inside the snake pit. When Eileen had tried to explain that to him, Ron had found it hilariously funny, although no one could understand why and Ron was not going to say anything nor provide a valid explanation.

The person least affected by it all was undoubtedly Riddle. Every day, he and Ron would never fail to dance a merry little dance of friendly insults, cheerful banter and snide remarks that, as the weeks wore on, got more subtle and carefully manipulated.

After a month spent sharing three of their five chosen subjects together, anyone listening in to their conversations would think that it was merely polite conversation between two individuals sharing a mutual animosity, but refusing to be rude. In reality it was, in a way, friendly chat between two almost-friends. Because God forbid that Tom Riddle and Ron Weasley be _friends_.

It had not taken long for Ron to work out that Riddle had overheard his first conversation with Harry and, to his surprise, he hadn't been angry. Ron had assured him that there was nothing he had seen or heard that he didn't mind him hearing – that if there had been he would have cast a silencing charm. If anyone else had said that, Riddle would have been mildly surprised, but it was Ron so he was not.

They still argued, and when they did anyone who was present watched with fascination at the way that Ron could talk Riddle down or, alternatively, rile him up and then leave him to explode at the nearest person or object.

It was not uncommon to find the remnants of an ex table or chair in classrooms that had not been used for teaching in for years. But as the arguments became more explosive they also became more infrequent.

And, though neither of them would say it to the other, it was much more fun trying to get a rise out of the other now that they were becoming more and more immune to the other's insults.

Ron's lessons with Dumbledore continued to be strange and slightly exciting. He had finally managed to wield wandless magic, but it was still fairly weak and he needed quite a bit of time to prepare himself for casting it. Soon, he started each lesson with a short duel against his professor but yet he always lost, though he was definitely getting better.

And the kind professor would always finished by setting the redhead a little bit of reading on a certain topic. Ever since Riddle had brought it up on the first day, Ron had wanted to ask Dumbledore about Animagus, but the opportunity had never arisen. That and the fact Ron was worried that if he mentioned it, Dumbledore would not allow him to become one or would make sure that he was registered.

The thing was, Ron dearly wanted just a single strand of freedom in his life that wasn't documented or questioned because nobody would know. If only Riddle had known what a set of dominoes he would set off in Ron's complicated and disorganized mind he wouldn't have mentioned it. So, the boy had set about reading up on Animagus and the spells and potions needed, grimacing at some of the ingredients.

Of course, he had yet to attempt anything, but he knew that sometime in the near future, he would be sneaking into Slughorn's private store cupboard. He only hoped that the wards he kept were less severe than those Snape had erected during Ron's sixth year. But he was distracted from this goal, however, when on the last Thursday before the Easter holidays, Jon Wilson, a Hufflepuff third year, was found petrified.

The school was thrown in to an uproar unmatched, even by the same incident fifty years in the future because, this time, the teachers were at a loss as to what to do.

And, of course, the first time it happened in Ron's time it had been a cat.

And a rather disliked cat at that.

'Riddle,' Ron greeted briskly the following morning as he arrived at breakfast with the other Slytherins.

'Kelestral,' he responded, sending Ron a nod in acknowledgment.

Inside his head, Ron was thinking up a particularly witty opening to the talk they needed to have about a certain secret chamber when Professor Dippet stood and called for quiet.

'As I am sure you are all aware a student was attacked and petrified some point during lunch yesterday. We have yet to discover the attacker, but the other teachers agree with me that, for your safety, all students will return home this coming holiday.'

This news did not seem to bother many people – so Ron gathered that most people, like at Christmas, had decided to go home anyway.

Riddle, however, _was_ bothered.

He didn't say anything, but he stood with such a force that the bench behind him was shunted backwards. For a moment he stood and stared furiously at the headmaster, but when nothing happened he seemed to momentarily lose control of his magic. The glasses and dishes on the table next to him shattered and the nearest candles above his head flared into floating balls of fire. Then Riddle got a hold of himself and turned, stalking out of the great hall, leaving the Great Hall in silence.

'Gosh,' Ron muttered into that silence. 'And I thought Gryffindors had a temper. If you'll excuse me, professors?' he asked politely to the teachers. Dippet nodded once, his brow furrowed in some unknown emotion.

Ron conspiratorially shot a wink at Eileen, who rolled her eyes back, causing Theodore to elbow Ron softly in the ribs. Standing up, he followed quickly after Riddle, knowing exactly what he was going to say. Admittedly, Ron had been relying on only having to worry about the summer holidays, but maybe, in a way, this was better.

'I'm guessing,' Ron said when he found Riddle a couple of moments later in an empty classroom – he'd only had to follow his loud swearing – 'that when you let out the basilisk this wasn't what you planned to happen?'

'Of bloody course not!' Tom Riddle yelled, throwing his hands up in the air and stalking around in the classroom like a caged animal.

'The snake was supposed to _kill_ the idiot mudblood and–' Riddle turned with a horrified expression to look at Ron.

'You _knew_.' He whispered, stunned.

Ron, being the sadist that he was, smirked at him.

'Yes and your point being?'

'But – how did you know? Who else knows? Because, I swear, Ron Kelestral, if you've told anyone you'll be next on my list, pureblood Slytherin or not.' Riddle hissed venomously.

Ron snorted, rolling his eyes.

'Right, because that would go down so well. "Sir, sir, you have to help me – the evil Mr Riddle has opened an ancient room which nobody believes exists and plans to wipe out all Muggle borns in the school!" yeah… believable,' Ron sneered, his voice thick with sarcasm.

Riddle would have rolled his eyes if his whole body wasn't taught with high stung tension, 'One question here. How did you find out?'

'All things considered it wasn't hard to work out. First, you're prime suspect. Because who could possibly want to hurt a poor, bumbling little Muggle born Hufflepuff except school bully, Tom Riddle? And admitting it to me without me even having to ask was a bit of a giveaway too,' Ron pointed out.

'But the Chamber of Secrets – how did you guess?'

'Right back at the beginning of term I said something along the lines of giant snakes invading the school and you turned even paler than usual. Piece that together with the fact that you're Slytherin's heir and Salazar was said to have a hidden chamber containing some kind of monster – presumably a serpent of some sort – then Wilson's petrifaction, the trademark sign of a Basilisk… you do the maths.'

Ron thought over that reasoning and realised that, really, he probably, maybe, might have worked it out on those facts alone. There was no point in telling him that his best friend had opened the chamber along with Ron in fifty years time.

'Are you the only one who knows?' Riddle asked stiffly.

'I think so,' Ron assured him.

'I haven't told anyone and I don't think anyone else has figured it out. Give it a couple of days, though, and you'll have Dumbledore on your case.'

Riddle swore.

'Language, Riddle,' Ron scolded gently, 'Now, we best be packing for the holidays.'

Riddle swore again, earning himself a friendly slap across the back of the head.

'What's the point? I'll leave my school stuff here and it's not as if I have much else.'

Ron shook his head sorrowfully and offered him a shrug, 'I'd keep your chin up, Riddle; you might find you'll have a saving angel this Easter.'

And with that cryptic message, Ron swept out of the room, thanking Snape for his theatrical entrances and exits. Ron had never ever thought herself much of an actor, but with a Slytherin mask, a haughty glance and a sweep of a billowing cloak, he had fit in with these snakes with easy grace. Ron heard Riddle swear again when the door swung shut behind him and rewarded himself with a small chuckle.

Now that he was curious about what Ron had said, it would keep his mind a little off going 'home'. In his mind's eye, Ron could still see the image of Riddle curled up on his bed, rocking back and forth as blood trickled out of the gashes in his back.

For some reason unknown to himself, he would not let that continue. And Ron had just the plan to get what he wanted.

For now, though, Ron went to the Headmasters office, asking the gargoyle guarding the entrance very nicely if it would let him through. Astounded by his amazingly good manners – it was obviously used to people just barking the password and pushing their way through – it stepped aside and let him up swiftly. Ron tapped lightly on the heavy door, announcing himself as a voice called from inside for her to enter.

'Ah, Mister Kelestral. I wished to talk to you about your arrangements over the holidays,' Professor Dippet started.

'Yes, and I needed to tell you that the key to my family's fortune arrived in the post the day before yesterday so I would not be needing the school or the ministry's charity.'

'You are under aged! You cannot possibly be expected to care for your own financial standings,' Dippet protested, astounded.

Ron thought sourly of the way Harry had been given the key to his family fortune at age eleven. He was seventeen (even if he had been masquerading as sixteen) and quite able to care for himself, thank you very much. More able, possibly than the Headmaster – during the holidays, at least.

'You don't understand, Professor, I turned of age two days ago, that is why I received the key.' He spoke, frustration stowed away.

'Oh, oh of course. Are you quite able to take care of yourself?'

'There isn't much there – our money lay in our lands – but it is enough for me to get by for one Easter Holiday and the summer holidays, especially if I take a job. I was hoping to apply for an apprenticeship here at Hogwarts after my graduation in a year and a half's time,' Ron hurriedly made something up.

He did mean to apply for a teaching position, but the story about the key?

Ron was stuck out of his own rightful time without a penny to his name. Well, that wasn't strictly true, but he wasn't about to tell anyone anything.

'Very well. With your academic ability we'd have no trouble in acquiring you a position after your NEWTs. Now, could you fill me in on the Riddle situation?'

'Oh, he'll get over it. He's just a little annoyed,' Ron said lightly, smug little smirk teasing the edges of his mouth.

'Mister Kelestral, please do be serious.'

'Oh, I am. He was furious earlier, but trusted me when I say he'll get over it.'

'If I find there's anything you aren't telling me…' Dippet trailed off, seeing the hard, blazed look in Ron's eye.

'You'll have to forgive me, Professor, if I _don't_ tell you everything. There are some things that are best not known by anyone.' Ron whispered, voice dangerous.

Dippet flustered a moment before dismissing Ron, but not before he caught the eye of the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, who recognised Ron as Slytherin and winked proudly at him. Ron nodded to him and quickly slipped out of the door before the Headmaster could see his grin. Although Ron still had nightmares and strong images of those few months of Hell, he had come to terms with it and was relaxing in to his new life.

The train journey going back to King's Cross seemed to take a lot less time than Ron was used to.

He was pretty certain that the journey length and time had not changed – it was merely his own assessment of that time that had changed.

Normally Ron would be excited to be going home. He'd be seeing his parents and older brothers who he wouldn't have seen for at least a couple of months and it would be a welcome break from the constant chatter and noise of Hogwarts.

This time no one would be waiting for him when he arrived.

His parents were only toddlers by this time and his brothers were dead. He wondered whether this was what it was like for Harry every time he had to head home to his horrid family.

Ron still remembered the haunted look on Harry's face when he had been told his family had been murdered to get at him. He had not loved them, but no one deserved what they had done to them and it was all – in his mind – his fault.

Ron looked around the carriage he was sharing with Eileen, Abraxas, Theodore, Carson, Leuthon, Sherleen and Riddle.

Eileen had disappeared a while back as her prefect duties called her to the front of the train, but Riddle had refused to go with her, too busy staring at Ron, who ignored him blatantly. Theodore and Abraxas were whispering excitedly to each other about something while sneaking glances at Riddle and the redhead that he was staring at. Sherleen was reading one of her gossip magazines, with Carson sleeping on her shoulder, without a care for the world.

Ron let out a sigh and stared out the window at the landscape flashing past. It hadn't changed much in the fifty years. There were fewer roads and houses and there was more smoke, but it was essentially the same.

He had a plan for when he got to King's Cross, of course. Ron just wasn't sure how well it was going to work. He had never really pick pocketed anything from anyone except his brothers. And he needed to know what Muggle currency was at the moment. He'd tried to figure it out from the exchange rates printed at the back of the Daily Prophet, but they had been imprecise and inaccurate. Besides, it wasn't the exchange rate he needed.

Riddle left for a while and returned quickly. He walked back into the carriage with his usual, long-legged stride that made him seem too tall for the train.

The sixteen year old had been in a bad mood ever since Headmaster Dippet's announcement the previous day, but he had not said anything. That was part of the problem; Riddle not saying anything. Usually the slightest thing out of order or not to his liking was commented on and then hastily changed by someone else.

Now it didn't seem to matter. And he kept rubbing his left forearm.

Ron knew that the place he kept rubbing would be the place he chose to mark his followers with the dark mark in the future, but it wasn't until now that he had entertained the possibility of there being some kind of symbolic gesture or vengeance behind its position.

He'd have to ask him about it at some point.

After making his mental memo, Ron finally turned his gaze from Riddle's arms to his face. He truly was a very handsome young man. But then Ron had known that since he had heard from a flustered Ginny and from the first day he came face to face to Riddle.

He had a high forehead and chiselled features, pointed chin, though not to the extent of the Malfoy's family. His nose was straight and thin, rounded at the tip and perfect for his face.

His eyes, though, were the best part.

They were a grey that was both light and deep at the same time; containing more than just grey, but blue and tiny flecks of green too. Ron remembered how they turned almost blue when he was happy and pure grey when he was angry. He wondered what colour they would turn when he was sad.

As he was studying Riddle's eyes so intently they blinked at him and Ron copied him, raising one eyebrow up his forehead.

'Have you been enjoying your studies?' he asked.

To anyone else it sounded like he was referring to their school work. Ron, however, knew that he was instead asking about the careful inspection of the colour of his face and eyes.

'Some of it's fascinating – particularly our defence teacher's explanation of the different shades of Patronuses. Some parts are plain boring,' Ron replied, his sapphire eyes sparkling.

Somehow, he loved these hidden conversations with Riddle. Judging by the way his eyes had gone from dull and flat from boredom to being a shade bluer, he guessed Tom had enjoyed them too. His last comment, of course, was not referring to Patronuses at all, rather, to the colour of his partner's eyes.

'I agree… the colour analysis really was very interesting. But you found some parts boring?'

Oh, so he liked the colour of Ron's eyes too, did he?

'I didn't truly understand the point of going over spells on how to style someone's hair when I, at least, have known them since I was eight,' Ron answered, biting the insides of his cheek to keep from grinning.

There was nothing particularly amusing about the comment except for the message he was sending to Riddle was he thought his haircut was that of an eight year old's.

'Yes, I could tell,' he said after a moment.

Ron glanced up and saw, not the insulted gaze he expected to see, but the sincere gaze of Riddle paying someone a compliment. Now, he couldn't help the blush creeping into his cheeks.

Sensing victory, Riddle smirked at Ron.

Theodore, who had followed Riddle in and had been following the exchange, pouted.

'Why do I get the feeling that I'm missing something?'

Riddle turned his stoic gaze out of the window as Ron sniggered.

'Don't worry, 'Theo. It's nothing important anyway.'

Sherleen, ever so wordless, and who had not looked up from her magazine, surprised everyone as she stated perceptively; 'It's just their way of flirting with each other.'

Riddle suddenly became that much more interested in the countryside passing by. And Ron's flush returned with a vengeance.

'What? By talking about school work?' Theodore asked in amazement.

Sherleen finally looked up, smirked at Ron's blush before turning her black gaze upon Theodore.

'I have no idea what they were talking about, but one thing I know for certain; school work is the last thing they were talking about.'

Ron gave Sherleen a gentle nudge in the ribs with his elbow.

'Shush,' he said in a teasing voice, 'You're just confusing the poor kitty.'

'Oh, for crying out loud! I'm not a cat!' Theodore cried out, pouting again, 'Seriously, though, what were you talking about?'

Ron looked up at Riddle, who was looking at him intensely. He did a nonchalant, one-shouldered half shrug, but shook his head almost imperceptibly.

'If you can't figure it out for yourselves, I'm not going to tell you,' Ron said in a playfully childish sing-song voice.

Theodore just pouted some more. Ron and Theodore continued to tease each other with no real venom, accepting the odd comment here and there from Sherleen and Riddle and, only once or twice, from the Leuthon and Abraxas, until the train finally drew up at Platform 9¾.

It was late afternoon by then and everyone seemed to rush off the train to greet their family.

Sherleen spared Ron a fleeting hug and a swift goodbye before she sprang out, Carson, Theodore, Abraxas and Eileen following suit, although a little slower.

'See you all in a couple of week's time!' Ron called cheerfully after them, his fellow Slytherins lifting their hands and waving their stately goodbyes before disappearing into the misty smog. Ron turned back and sank with a sigh back onto the seat he had spent the journey on.

'Not running off?' Riddle said, spite and jealousy lacing his voice.

Ron snorted elegantly.

'All my family and friends died a couple of months ago, remember?'

He paused, leaning back on the thin yet comfortable cushion coated bench.

'What about you? Is someone coming to pick you up?'

Riddle just shot Ron a furious glare.

Ron shrugged, 'OK, then. I'll be back in ten minutes, I want to catch Harry before he leaves.'

Riddle didn't dignify Ron's statement with a response. He didn't even move.

Ron sighed and left the carriage, running out onto the platform and searching through the thick cloud of steam and smoke until he caught sight of a too-familiar mop of messy black hair.

'Harry!' he called out, ignoring the curious looks from the parents as a Slytherin rushed up and hugged a Gryffindor.

'Hey, Ron,' he said with a sloppy grin, returning the hug hesitantly, but willing enough.

'Sorry, didn't mean to scare you,' Ron said, leaping backwards, 'I just… well, you know.'

He felt his cheeks heating up as the man and woman standing behind James gazed at him with apprehensive interest, no fury nor discomfort visible. Unlike the Muggle world, which according to Harry, is very much against homosexuality, the wizarding world is very open.

How could you not when you live in a world where dragons and unicorns and phoenixes actually exist?

'Yeah, I know. And it doesn't matter. Ron, meet my mum and my dad. Mum, Dad, this is Ron Celestial,' Harry said, introducing Ron to the couple who had been looking at him.

'Mr and Mrs Potter, what a pleasure to meet you,' Ron said politely, with a small smile.

'Please, dear, call me Margaret,' the woman said.

'James,' the man added, offering his hand.

Ron shook it enthusiastically, mentally rolling his eyes. Did the Potters have no imagination when it came to names? And particularly male ones?

'Thanks. Look, Harry, I have to go. You have good holiday, and I'll see you in a couple of week's time!' Ron said, grinning broadly at them and running off, allowing himself a rueful grin when he overheard Mrs Potter – Maragret – say something.

'Well, he has got to be the oddest Slytherin I've ever met, that boy'

Ron jumped back aboard the train, bumping into Riddle as he was leaving.

'Oh,' he said. 'I thought you'd gone already.'

Ron rolled his eyes at him, wondering how long is the boy going to keep fooling himself.

'I said I'd be back, didn't I? You still wouldn't believe me, would you? Besides, my trunk is still in the compartment.'

Riddle smirked, a little more colour coming back into the cheeks that were so pale normally anyway. He pointed at the two trunks before him, both of them looking rather meagre and skinny. It took Ron a moment to realise that one of them was the trunk he had been assigned by the faculty.

'So, how do you want to get to the orphanage? Bus, Train or Taxi?' Ron asked him.

'I usually walk,' the raven-haired boy replied monotonously, the colour fading away again at the mention of the orphanage. He looked like the living dead, the shade he was at the moment.

'I haven't been to London in a while,' Ron commented dryly, 'Maybe a walk would do me good.'

Riddle said nothing, only bowed his head so he was staring at his feet. Ron grabbed both of their trunks and headed off towards the exit, whistling nonsensically again. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Riddle had slipped into a state of semi-permanent depression. Ron turned away from him before he could see the look in Ron's eyes.

He was confused.

Riddle was usually so emotionless and, even when he was feeling something, he hid it so well under his façade of uncaring very few could distinguish it from his usual state of mind. But here, leading him ever so slowly through London to the dirtier, grimier back streets on their way to orphanage, every step Riddle took, he winced.

The closer they came the slower he went and the more depressed he it was all written clear as daylight across his features. Eventually, Ron couldn't stand just watching him anymore and, forgetting what he was to become, he shrunk the two trunks he was dragging behind her and slipped them into his pocket. Then he ran up to Riddle and wrapped an arm around his waist.

He froze and looked down at him, his face suddenly turning furious.

'I don't want your pity, Kelestral,' he spat.

'Good. Because I'm not giving you pity, none at all to the big bad heir of Slytherin' Ron replied, his face hardening and his arm tightening, hugging Riddle close to him.

'Like hell you aren't,' Riddle retorted, trying to push Ron away. As he turned, Ron took the opportunity to wrap his other arm around him as well.

Riddle swore colourfully, but Ron just looked up at him seriously.

'This isn't pity, Riddle. Pity is cooing and expressing regret and not doing anything.'

Riddle had stopped trying to get away so Ron stepped forward and hugged him, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

'This is comfort,' he whispered, leaning his head against his chest and closing his eyes.

Hesitantly, Riddle allowed his arms to snake around Ron until he was holding the redhead loosely.

'I – thank you,' he replied softly.

Ron leant back and smirked up at him.

'Who said it was comfort for _you_?' he teased him.

Then they let each other go and carried on walking.

'I don't like leaving you here,' Ron confessed sotto voice.

Riddle said nothing, but his head did not drop back to stare at his feet as they moved on. The rest of their journey was travelled in silence and Ron was amazed at how quickly you could get from the respectable areas of the everyday folk to the disgusting back alleys upon which the orphanage was situated.

He held his tongue, however, and returned Riddle's luggage to its usual size as they stopped outside a cracked wooden door.

'I don't understand,' he said after a long moment of the two of them staring at the wooden door, 'It's the middle of the second world war for the Muggles – surely they'd have evacuated you all by now?'

Riddle snorted. 'Like they care,' was all he said.

Ron sighed and moved to hug Riddle before he left.

'Don't,' he told her, not capable of meeting his eyes.

Whether he was referring to hugging him or about leaving, Ron just ignored him.

He wrapped his tanned arms around Riddle well built body and, on impulse, kissed his cheek gently before he stepped away.

'Don't fret, I'll be seeing you.'

Riddle looked at him dolefully and then turned his back on Ron and knocked on the ominous door. Ron walked quickly away, as he did not want to be seen by the owners or the orphanage for a very specific reason.

If his plan was to work, he could not be recognised later on.

For now, however, Ron searched briefly for some public toilets so he could change into his disguise.

Several minutes, a new black cloak, a little spells here and there later and Ron emerged onto the wizarding streets looking completely unrecognisable to the gangly redhead who had left them. He had enlarged his body frame, and pulled the hood of the cloak over his head, hiding his face. With a beard, and grime and dirt on his face, he look like a wizard that you would not want to be messing with.

With a casual bump, he knocked into a short, wheezy wizard and without anyone noticing, he sneakily stole away with the wand belonging to that wizard. The man was startled, but soon brushed off Ron's gruff apology.

'Not at all, Mister. You – you have a nice day.' he said with a shake of his salt and pepper hair.

And without any signs of nervousness, Ron was quick on his way, proceeding with the plan in his head. To every other people, Muggle and Wizards alike, Ron cut a terrifying figure, enhanced magically and also very much by the long black over coat he wore over his attire.

It reached his ankles, being a wizarding cloak as it was.

Drawing it close around him, Ron turned and stepped, disappearing from the bustling street with a crack. He reappeared about five miles away, in the Muggle world, standing, and looking at a cracked wooden door that he had seen only once before, but still seemed dauntingly familiar.

Raising a hand and knocked once, twice, then waited.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours, the door swung open to reveal an elderly man whose retreating hair reminded Ron strongly of Bellatrix Lestrange. He had a squashed face that looked as though he had had it smashed in more than once and short with a plump frame.

His clothes were disgustingly dirty and moth bitten, much like the man himself in many ways, and when he opened his mouth to speak it took a lot of will power for Ron to not to wince at the sight of what remained of his teeth.

'Whaddayawunt?' he blurted drunkenly, his breath reeking of cheap alcohol.

'Cos if you're 'ere to drop of unwanted baggage we don't have no room,' he burbled on, unaware or uncaring of the double negative.

'Aye, sir,' Ron said, giving himself a thick cockney accent.

'But I'm here to pick up, not drop off… if you get my meaning,' he continued, winking in a familiar way, even as his mind reeled in disgust at the pathetic excuse of a man before him.

'Oh, of cour',' the man said, leading him in to the building.

Ron was caught entirely off guard when the man bellowed loudly, something along the lines of, 'get all your asses down here you lazy sods.'

A thin, straggling line of about ten children, ages ranging from 2 to 13 appeared in the room looking utterly miserable and ill-treated.

But Riddle was not there.

'Excuse me, dude, but I was under the impression you had more than this?' Ron asked, his hidden blue eyes glittering fiercely as he walked down the line of children, hiding feelings that he was dying to repress.

'Yeah, why?'

'Cos me man wants them all,' Ron said, turning to him with a malicious glint in his eye that the man entirely misinterpreted.

'You payin'?'

'Get the others down here first,' Ron ordered, then turned his back on the man as he stuttered and tripped out of the room.

Ron gaze flickered over the children before him and he did his best not to shudder. They were all practically skinny as rakes, eyes sunken in and clothes – no, rags – were hanging limply off their bodies.

And this was the home that Riddle lived in?

Well, at least it explained how he had become so good at torture – all of the kids had burn marks and bruises covering their skin. The door swung open behind him and Ron turned smartly to see the man drag three boys into the room.

Bile rose in his throat as Ron took in their broken, bleeding skin and matted hair. They did not look up at him, just grunting as they lay where they were pushed.

At the end of the line, there was Tom Riddle.

* * *

Again, I don't know where to cut off. And I feel that I concentrated my story mainly on just Ron, Riddle and Eileen. Hence I think I should change that, perhaps in the new chapter, I would dedicate a few chapters specially for our fellow snakes. 

But I can't really come up with a plot for Sherleen, Carson, Leuthon...Abraxas, Eileen and Theodore, I think I can, but the rest?


	9. Chapter 9: Guardian Angel

Take a breath  
Please hold yourself together  
Just another step till I reach the door  
You'll never know the way it tears me up inside  
When I see you masking your hurt  
I wish that I could tell you something  
To take it all away

Sometimes I wish I could save you  
And there're so many things that I want you to know  
I won't give up till it's over  
If it takes you forever I want you to know

When I hear your voice  
Its drowning in a whisper  
It's just skins and bones  
There's nothing left to take  
No matter what I do I can't make you feel better  
If only I could find the answer  
To help me understand

Sometimes I wish I could save you  
And there're so many things that I want you to know  
I won't give up till it's over  
If it takes you forever I want you to know

That if you fall, stumble down  
I'll pick you up off the ground  
If you lose faith in yourself  
I'll give you strength to pull through  
Tell me you won't give up cause I'll be waiting if you fall  
You should know I'll be there for you  
_

Fighting hard to control his expression as he recognised one of them to be Riddle, Ron turned to the proprietor.

'Five quid for the lot of them,' he said.

'You what? They're worth mor'an tha'!'

'If you fed them proper, maybe,' Ron agreed.

'But now it's going to take me a couple of weeks to have them nice and ready to work, isn't it? Take the money and be happy it isn't less.'

'You're sellin' us?' a little girl cried out in horror, stepping out of the line.

Ron immediately turned to the girl and lowered himself to the girl's height and smirked vindictively, but deep down, he was wishing that he could give just the smallest sign that they were going somewhere safe.

'Don't worry, girlie, you'll like you're new work just fine,' Ron said, winking suggestively at her.

The girl shrank back and lowered her head once more, her body shaking from silent sobs.

'I quite like the sound o' havin' one o' your professionals for meself,' the man said, sneering disgustingly.

'Do you have ten quid to spare on our cheapest whore?' Ron asked him maliciously, disgust towards the man arising once more.

When the man shook his head in horror, Ron let laughter drop like poison from his lips, 'Thought not.'

His sentence seems to anger the man, and without warning, he grabbed one of the older boys roughly by the hair and pushed him to the ground.

It was Riddle.

Ron watched in horror and cold fury as the man sneered, "Ye got 'em all, but I hav ta keep one for meself, and 'is kid makes a great slut, yer get what I mean?"

That was it. He snapped and the evil within him that he was fighting to suppress broke free.

"Stupefy!"

With the speed of lightning, Ron whipped out the wand that he stole and stunned the man, who froze there.

"Bastard" Ron snarled darkly and knelt down to face Riddle.

"Hey, you alright?"

The raven-haired boy said nothing. Instead, he stared at Ron in faint fear and curiosity, and Ron winced as the injuries that Riddle suffered just within such a short span of time was thrown into the light.

"Who are you?" Tom whispered.

Ron grinned, and with a twirl of the wand, he removed the entire disguise that he placed on himself. And he had to fight back his laughter at how round Riddle's eyes got. Tom Riddle's head snapped up and he stared at the redhead for a moment before comprehension dawned.

'Thank fucking God,' he managed to grate out, his voice thick and hoarse.

'But what the hell are you doing here?'

'Well I said I would save you, didn't I?" Ron said with a smirk. 'I want to keep an eye on my frenemy, eh?'

'Damn you, Kelestral, I'm in pain,' Riddle ground out.

'I know,' Ron muttered softly, before leaning close to his ear and whispering, 'how many of them know about magic?'

Riddle shrugged, and then winced at the movement.

'Right,' Ron said standing and turning to face the children.

'Let's get a couple of things straight. I am not taking you to a whore house, nor am I a bastard who keep all of you doing chores for me'

Riddle let out a rasping laugh from behind him.

'You sure as hell looked like one a minute ago,' he pointed out.

'I look scary in those clothes, I won't deny,' Ron said with a smirk.

'But do shut your gap for two minutes, will ya?' The Slytherin then turned back to the twelve others.

'I'm here to save your skins from another beating, hopefully forever. Now, I need to get the lot of you cleaned up and into new clothes. If the two oldest of you would take those two,' he pointed at the other two boys in much the same condition as Riddle, 'and follow me in silence.'

Silently the children did as Ron ordered, eyes wide and round as if they understood what was happening, but it seemed too fantastic to be real. Ron hefted Riddle up, ignoring his moans of complaint, and hitched an arm underneath his so that he was half walking and half being carried by him.

The journey was fast as Ron was only taking them to a dead end alley and there were enough around. When they arrived, he quickly moved and transfigured a couple of bins so they were surrounded by walls on all sides. The children watched in amazement as he then went on to turn a couple of tin cans into chairs for the three worst to sink into.

Riddle sat down, muttering about stupid Muggles and old-fashioned walking. Ron just rolled his eyes and turned to the others.

'Could you line up, youngest first? And please don't panic,' Ron requested.

They moved quickly, frantically – clearly terrified about taking too long, or getting it wrong. Before long, Ron was crouching down next to the youngest of the thirteen orphans, a tiny two year old girl with humungous blue eyes.

'Hey, what's your name?' he asked gently.

'Lizzy,' the girl replied.

'Do you have a surname?'

'No. Just Lizzy,' she stated firmly.

'OK, Lizzy. Would you mind if I gave you second name?' Ron asked gently.

When the girl shook her head, Ron continued.

'You're now going to be Lizzy Ashenhurst, is that alright?'

(Here, I have to say I took the surname from my friend Ly, thanks dear!)

'Yes.'

'Now, how old are you?'

'Four,' the toddler said, surprising Ron.

Four? You got to be kidding, the child was so tiny!

She should be starting school soon. At that thought, Ron's heart sank. All these kids should be going to school. How many of them were? Deciding to leave that for individual questioning, he turned back to the youth before him.

'Can you close your eyes and relax for me?' he requested.

Nervously Lizzy did as instructed. Ron waved stolen wand, casting a quick scourgify. He knew that each of the kids would have to have baths to get properly clean, but for now that would have to do.

Then, Ron set about changing the rags Lizzy had on until the little girl was wearing a pretty pink dress and shiny new shoes over knee high white socks. He quickly added a thick coat and wrapped it around her, telling the girl to open her eyes.

Lizzy and the others all looked in amazement at the transformation as Ron laughed delightfully, prepared to forget momentarily, the gloom these children had been living in. Ron made his way gradually down the line, asking each child their name and age – making up surnames that sounded magical where necessary.

Then he cleaned each of them and changed their clothes into things that were comfortable, warm and most importantly, respectable. After the first ten were done, Ron turned to the three eldest, the two of whom he did not know staring at him apprehensively.

Riddle seemed to have fallen asleep.

'What are you?' one of them asked, his voice thick.

'I'm a wizard,' Ron replied bluntly, 'And you are hurt. I'm afraid I can't do much about that now, so you will have to put up with the pain a little longer.'

The boy laughed roughly. 'I've put up with the pain for years. It's the humiliation I'm getting used to.'

Ron's initial smirk immediately fell from his face as he looked at the boy straight in the eye.

'Listen to me now, you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. That git back there will get what he deserves, I promise you that. None of this is your fault. Trust me when I say I have seen people in a lot more pain than you. Trust me when I say that I have seen more human mutilation and torture than anyone should see. Trust me when I say that I will tell no one of this.'

Ron then turned around so that he was talking to all of them.

'I will be rewriting all your life stories. Although the fact remains that I cannot change the past–' much as he was trying, right now '–but I will give you all something worth living for. I will give you all a future you can enjoy because I know what it's like to feel hopeless. I know what it's like to wish for the end to come already.'

He closed his eyes and turned his head away as the image of the victims of the final battles' pitiful faces, bloodied and bruised, pleading up at him appeared in Ron's mind's eye. The children watched their saviour sent from heaven in silence as he cleaned up the other two and changed their clothes.

Finally, he turned to Riddle.

Ron cleaned him up slowly, with more care than he had the others, and changed him into a smart suit that had him raising his eyebrows as his eyes swept his body appreciatively.

'Pervert,' Riddle murmured under his breath at him.

'Yeah, but this pervert here saved your arse,' Ron reminded him cheerfully, just as quietly.

He laughed softly and Ron noted with pleasure that his eyes turned a delicious soft blue when he did so. The train journey, though they had only left the station about seven hours ago, seemed as though it was more than a lifetime ago.

Ron then stood and turned to the children.

'I'm sure you all have dozens of questions and I will answer them, but first you all need to get some sleep.'

He then pulled an empty cigarette box out of his coat pocket and told everyone to grab hold, ignoring their confused looks. He activated the portkey and the fourteen of them appeared in another alleyway that was not dissimilar to the one they had just left.

Ron led all of them out round a corner to a cosy, homely and large cottage. They were greeted by a plump looking woman with very dark brown hair and friendly eyes who ushered them all in before drawing Ron to the side.

'Is this all of them? You seemed uncertain over the phone how many there would be,' she asked gently in a soft Scottish accent.

'Yes, this is all of them. They are all malnourished and have been abused physically – I don't really know what state they're in mentally, I only asked for their names and ages.' Ron took out a scrap of paper and quickly scribbled down names and corresponding ages.

'But there's only twelve names on there,' the woman pointed out.

'Yes, Mrs Devenham. One of them is a school friend of mine and I would be offering to stay with him, so don't you worry,' Ron assured her.

'Ah, of course. Very well. I will make sure that each of them is given the care and love that the cruel Muggle world had rejected them. Are you aware of how they are doing academically?'

'No, I'm afraid not. I will be back in a week's time to see how they are getting on and also to make further arrangements.'

'Of course and thank you for helping. We've been after such Muggle bastards for years, but they've been eluding us. The ministries and Muggle police should be arriving at that shithole's hovel right about now.'

'Fantastic, I'll leave them all to you till I find a way to, you know? And do take care of them like your own kids, will you?' Ron said, enthusiastically shaking Mrs Devenham's hand.

'Tom?' he called to the children, Riddle moving forwards, his eyebrow cocked in unspoken question.

'We're off now. The rest of you, we will be back in a week's time to see how you are.'

Then Ron placed a hand on Riddle's shoulder and with a sweep of his coat, they were gone. The two of them walked for about half a mile in silence before Ron wrapped an arm tight around Riddle and disapparated, appearing back in a the three broomstick, where Ron had rented a room before hand, with the amount of money that Dumbledore had gave him earlier, which was a hefty sum, he might add.

He hurriedly sat Riddle down on the sofa, ordering him to remove his shirt.

'Frisky, are we?' Riddle joked weakly.

'I want to see how bad you're hurt,' Ron said in a no-nonsense tone.

'I'm fine,' Riddle protested.

Ron looked at him through narrowed eyes before brightening and slapping him on the back. Riddle gave a yelp and cringed away from him. Smirking and glaring at the same time, Ron held out an expectant hand.

'And don't worry about your modesty,' Ron said as the head boy hesitated.

'If you think I'm a pervert, don't go talking to one of the other boys on the quidditch team. He took photos of each of you in the shower and posted them up all over his dormitory. Yours is the most revered,' he said with a smirk.

Riddle's glare intensified, but he removed the shirt and chucked it at Ron's face, but the latter caught it neatly and banished it with his Keeper's reflex. Then he asked Tom to lie down on his front on the sofa, resorting to whacking him on the head when he refused.

Finally, the redhead got to work on mending the large gashes in the boy's back.

He worked quickly and quietly as the boy endured it in silence. When the skin was healed over, Ron gently rubbed bruise oil into his skin, knowing that it would cause the bruises to have disappeared by morning.

Then, ever so hesitantly, Ron removed Riddle's trousers and pants. He did not protest, but his whole body tensed as Ron saw the bruising and realised what it meant.

Ron had seen a lot of abuse when he and Harry were caring for the injured and victims of the war, but never, _never_ had anyone stooped so low as to rape others. The youngest Weasley boy had never seen this kind of thing before, but it did not need an awful lot of insight to figure it out.

Riddle's hips and thighs were covered in bruises that could only be caused by grasping, steel hard hands and the entirety of his buttocks was red and raw. Silently, he continued rubbing in the oil, knowing that as it took away the bruising it could never take away the awful memories of how those bruises had appeared.

After he was done, Ron went into the room he had prepared for Riddle and found the pyjamas that he had made for him.

He placed them by Riddle's head where he still lay on the sofa and then turned away from him to his own room, wondering how he was supposed to cope with this – how Riddle coped with it. After half an hour, Ron returned to the main room and removed the stasis spell from the plate of food, then set it on the coffee table.

Riddle was staring into the fireplace unmoving, and Ron couldn't look at him as he sank into the armchair.

'So now you know,' Riddle said flatly.

Something in his tone – maybe the lack of emotion, maybe the fact he didn't seem to _care_ – made Ron want to just curl up and die right there and then. He was the one who had told him that it would all be alright.

So he also curled his legs up into the chair and copied him, staring unmoving into the fire, oblivious to the hot tears that ran down his cheeks, as his toughness finally cracked.

'I'm so sorry,' he finally managed to get out, his voice hoarse and raspy.

'It's not your fault,' Riddle replied monotonously.

'But if I'd come a little sooner, if I hadn't taken you back in the first place it would never have happened,' Ron stated, turning his shining blue eyes to Riddle for the first time since he had finished healing the bruises.

'It's been happening for years, Ronald Kelestral, it's no big deal anymore,' Riddle said.

Then he let out a tight, humourless laugh, 'Never crossed anyone's mind that it was a little odd that I hadn't ever had a girlfriend. Not one.'

Ron bowed his head.

'You have me though,' he said quietly, not pausing to think what he truly meant by that.

'And what are you, Ron? A friend? A fellow friend of similar intelligence to me and a quick wit? I don't think so. I – I want – Never mind.' He broke off; leaving Ron to wonder what is on his mind.

Ron smiled sadly up at him, and then moved over to sit next to his "friend" on the sofa.

'Riddle – Tom. This probably isn't the time or place, and I know that Slytherins don't really 'date' as search, but would you like to go out with me sometime?'

Riddle looked at him, his eyes searching for the laughter and the tease that surely, _surely_ should be there, if not in his tone then in his eyes. But Ron blinked back seriously.

'Why?' he said, his voice cracking.

'I'm broken.'

A blush slowly creeping up his cheek, Ron slipped his hand into Riddle's and entwined their fingers together.

'So am I,' he let out on a breath, leaning his head against Tom's shoulder.

They sat for a long time, staring into the fire and wondering what was to happen next. The fire slowly faded to glowing embers, until they too flickered from existence.

Slowly, reluctantly, Ron had to pry his hand from Riddle's and showed him his room. Riddle nodded, in one gesture thanking Ron and bidding him goodnight. Ron turned and closed the door behind him, walking slowly across the room until he reached his room, where he slipped easily out of his clothes and into a set of pajamas and then stretched out across his bed.

Tom Marvelo Riddle.

(Honestly, I can never remember the spellings correctly for their names, especially the middle ones)

Once those words would have incited nothing but fear and hatred within him, but now…

Now they held a promise of something that should be wrong but seemed so right.

Lying curled up in the huge bed the hotel had provided, Ron wondered what it would be like to be kissed by Riddle – what it would be like to be loved by Riddle. No matter what he had become in the original timeline, this was not the same boy.

The boy that Ron remembered from the future should had been a jerk, every atom a Dark Lord in training. But this Riddle was not.

He was a school bully, for sure, but an inherent mad man planning to take over the world and torture and kill all those who did not fit the bill or got in his way?

No.

Riddle, this Riddle, Ron's Riddle was not the same as the future dark lord in the making.

Ron sat up straight in his bed. He never had been. He was similar – very similar, that was why it had taken Ron so long to figure out he was not the same – but he was not the same.

Ron was not the key to Riddle's change.

Had fate sent someone else back in time?

To before now?

Had they changed some tiny, almost imperceptible detail that had made everything different?

If Ron were to go forward fifty years in time now, would he actually find a different world with everyone living peacefully?

His mind came up with an answer, but he pushed it away, not wanting to know. Not yet. He didn't truly understand the implications of what he was doing – of the time he was changing, but he could understand what it might mean. Ron felt like he could snap out of existence at any moment and wondered whether that would happen if he successfully changed time.

If he would just disappear in a puff of smoke that revealed that he had never truly existed. His thoughts wandered casually back to rest on Riddle. He was such an enigma.

And Ron wondered whether he was already writing that diary that someone would discover in fifty year's time and follow in his footsteps to opening the Chamber of Secrets.

Yet, Ron was missing something and he knew it. There was some vital piece of information that Ron could not see that had an impact on anything and everything that was going to happen.

The diary – was he writing the diary? Ron tried his best to concentrate, but it was difficult after the long day he'd had. Maybe he should just leave his puzzling until the next morning. After all, he had all of the Easter holidays before they returned to school and anything else could happen.

Wrapping himself warmly in the blanket and digging himself a hollow in the piles of cushions, Ron laid back down, remembering what it was like to hold Riddle's hand in his.

It had actually felt nice.

Finally, he had made up his mind on his feelings towards Tom Riddle. Yes, it might seem weird, disgusting even. But Ron knew what was yelling at the top of its lungs in his head.

His growing love towards Tom.

Yes, love, how ridiculous.

He, Ron Weasley, best friend to the Boy who Lived, actually fell in love with the future Dark Lord.

No.

He would stop Tom Riddle from becoming Voldermort, even if he sacrifices himself. And Tom, in the progress of doing so. If only he had tried occulumency to look into the whirling mind of the boy next door.

The boy who was the centre of Ron's universe right now.

* * *

This is the first time that I realize how hard it is to write this story. The plot that I came up with confused even me, and now I have no idea how to go on. 


	10. Chapter 10: Unexpected

Sorry about the confusion. Anyway, enjoy! All those who have read the previous edition would see what major plot I have thought of and inserted here. I'm not sure whether it's original but sure, I came up with it myself, but who knows if you guys have read something similar?

Review!

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't see any owners of Harry potter here!

Would you mind if I took the time to get to know you  
'Cause it's been a while since all we've been through  
And even though I said my feelings wouldn't change  
Nothin' stays the same

I could see when I look in your eyes you mean no harm  
It's just the way you manipulate me with your charm  
And I can tell the love I have for you's still strong  
And there ain't nothing wrong with me still lovin' you

After all that we've been through  
I find myself still lovin' you  
But I think we need to take the time to get back  
'Cause I never get up on a good thing  
I never give up on the love we have  
We just need to take it slow

In the past you would act as if you don't really care  
You would fight and argue almost anywhere  
Lookin' back sometimes I feel like such a fool  
For puttin' up with you

Baby, please understand me if it seems I'm confused  
It's just it might take me some time to get used to  
you  
When I things of all the things we used to do, baby  
I just find myself still lovin' you

I believe you and me have a chance to make this right  
Oh, baby, if your heart is in it, I'm still with it  
Even after all this time has passed  
Oh, I'm still lovin' you

The two weeks heralding Easter passed quickly as Ron and Riddle slipped into an easy familiarity around each other.

Riddle was still, in many ways, unsure of how to act around Ron; he knew all the things about him that no one else knew. But he had also accepted him more than anyone else would if they learn of the secrets of Tom.

It was the little things that he liked the most. Like the way the redhead decided what time breakfast would be, but it would be up to him to choose when – and where – to have dinner. And when they retired for the evening to their separate rooms he would reappear in his room thirty minutes after they said goodnight and would massage the bruise oil into his sullied skin.

It was unspoken arrangement that just seemed to happen.

Riddle would never admit it out loud to Ron, but he loved the way his soft, swirling sapphire eyes would sweep his form when he entered the room, appraising him and checking that he was alright in one look. In his turn, Riddle did things that Ron learnt to appreciate.

Despite – or perhaps because of – his upbringing, Riddle seemed able to sense what restaurant served good food and had good service without having to look at the menu.

Expectedly, he still kept his Slytherin mask in place most of the time, of course, but Ron still spotted the slight curve of his lips when he smiled at him, or the slight sparkle in his eyes when Ron attempted to make a joke to coax some rare laughter out of the Slytherin, failing all the time.

Riddle relaxed more in Ron's company, too.

In some ways, it was a great relief that Ron knew almost everything about him and accepted him for it. Because the mysterious redhead did accept him. He accepted his past, and the way he lived now and did not try to change him.

Ron knew that somewhere along the line something had changed – a tiny, imperceptible little thing – but this Riddle, his Tom, was not the same as the Riddle in the diary. And he was happy with that, because it meant that he wouldn't become Voldermort and maybe – maybe he could just stay with this Tom Riddle that he accepted truly in his heart, the Tom Riddle that he wanted to accompany throughout.

It all seemed too easy.

Ron felt that he hadn't actually done anything.

True, he'd annoyed him, argued with him, proven that he had an intelligence and wit to match Riddle's and saved him from the orphanage, but nothing more than that. He hadn't even put any effort into it; only done what he always did. Maybe that was it, but Ron still had a niggling feeling that something was just wrong.

He had a nagging thought in his head that reminded him to remain alert, so maybe the greatest trial was yet to come. For now however, the pair were happy to enjoy each other's company and the glories of the town of London.

It was, perhaps, less spectacular than its usual glory, due to the war, but there were so many places to go – places to see. And, when they could not think of anywhere to go in London, Ron would apparate them further away – to Liverpool or Manchester.

Once he even took them down to the south coast, to a thriving tourist town with long, beautiful beaches.

Then they would return and the hotel would welcome back 'the pair of mysterious lovers" which, the first time he heard it, left Riddle choking on nothing. Ron had quickly rushed him to their room, sniggering at him the entire time, ignoring the mutters and whispers of the hotel staff.

'Lovers?' the prince of Slytherin managed to get out.

'Well, we're always dressed in black and it is pretty abnormal for two males to share the same hotel room,' Ron said, with an easy shrug of his shoulders. He had learnt from Harry that muggles can be so extremely rigid and stiff sometimes.

'But – but, gay? To you?'

Ron laughed out loud, a free, natural sound. 'Is there something about me that makes me un-love-able?'

Poor Riddle had flustered for another moment, before he recovered and his emotionless façade fell back in place. He had casually taken Ron's hand and bent to kiss it, more than a little startled when Ron's lips snagged his on the way down.

It was gentle, brief and teasing – for, the next moment Riddle straightened up, leaving the very much amused redhead behind. Ron had laughed his goodnight to the haughty Slytherin then, and whisked out of the room, his midnight black robe twirling out around him. But he did not leave before Riddle caught the tiny flash of sincerity in his clear blue eyes.

That was the first of quite a few stolen kisses through the two week period – the most important of which the day they went to check on the other children from the orphanage. They were all doing much better, but most had to start their education from scratch and nothing could be done for the mental scars that they children had received. They had all individually thanked Ron.

Riddle watched the exchange through narrowed, suspicious eyes, but did not say anything. Ron soon made arrangements with the matron – Mrs Devenham – and money swapped hands before Ron and Riddle left.

On their way back to the hotel, Ron had caught sight of a pretty little cottage by the road and declared his desire for such a cozy house out loud, and turned around for his companion's response, but Riddle had smirked then and pressed his lips to Ron's.

That kiss had been the first that he had stolen from the surprised redhead, rather than the other way around. It was also the only one that had deepened beyond just a swift peck of the lips. It left both of them with their mind reeling before they placed their individual smug smirks in place.

Tom, because he had such an effect on Ron. Ron, because he was proven to be right after all – Tom Riddle really was soft and squidgy behind that Slytherin mask. Not in a literal way, but in the way that he was just such a nice person when they kissed. Although _nice_ really wasn't the best way to put it.

The second week passed much as the first had, with the exception of Easter Sunday itself, when they both slept in and spent the entire day in their room reading and eating the mountains of chocolate that the Hotel had sent as compliments to their 'only honeymoon couple this season' which had both Ron laughing and Riddle chocking.

Perhaps this pretending to be gay thing did have its benefits.

On the last day before their return to Hogwarts the two of them had gone on a boat trip that went down along the Thames, a little way along the coast and then back up to the docking point, stopping off at cafes, bars and shops along the way. They had risen early and the sun was starting to greet the horizon by the time the boat was making the final leg of its journey.

'You know, Kelestral,' Riddle addressed Ron as they both leant over the railing to watch the river bank slowly drift past. 'I've been thinking.'

'Uh oh,' Ron teased, 'that can't be good!' Then he ducked as the Slytherin took to swipe at his head.

'Why do we still call each other by our surnames sometimes?' he asked in all sincerity.

'I don't know. Habit?' Ron replied softly.

'I think I'd like it if you called me Tom,' Riddle said in the same tone as him.

Ron said nothing, but loosed his hands from each other and laid the one closest to him palm up as it rested on the barrier. Tom placed his hand in Ron's and they both watched as their fingers entwined. Then they both turned back to watching the bank as they steadfastly ignored the slightly pink tinge that their faces had got, even as they admired the effect of the blush on the other's features.

There were no kisses – stolen or otherwise – that night. They had simply said goodnight with smirks that showed the other how much they'd truly enjoyed each other's company.

Maybe, though neither of them would say so, those smirks could really be counted as smiles. Proper smiles.

The next morning rose early and they rose with it, quickly packing their new clothes, along with the things they had bought at Diagon Alley to replace what Tom had left at the orphanage.

As had become natural for them, they walked into the station side by side, a bit too close for even the closest of friends. They didn't really notice that it was unusual until they saw the raised eyebrows and speculative gazes of the rest of their year – specifically the Slytherins.

'Well, well, well,' Eileen said in greeting as she saw them, before wrapping Ron up in a hug and nodding at Tom.

'Habit, Eileen. The hotel I've been staying at thought we were a gay couple, and since it brought great benefits…' Ron trailed off, his eyes sparking mischievously.

'I'm guessing you mean champagne and chocolate, not sex,' Eileen stage whispered, well aware that Tom and many others could hear her.

Ron smirked, raising an eyebrow at his friend. 'Why exactly would the hotel staff be providing sex if I had him?'

Tom turned a beautiful crimson color before he slipped his mask back in place and left the two to chat, stalking stormily onto the train, and snapping at anyone who got in his way. But of course, his behavior only made Eileen and Ron gloat all the harder.

'Oh, he's hot when he's pissed off,' Eileen said, following his progress along the train with her eyes.

'I know, he's hot all the time,' Ron told her. 'Besides, much as I know you love to appreciate the good things in life, try and keep your ogling to a minimum.'

'Are you going out, then?' Eileen asked, interest diverted from Tom.

Ron shrugged, then frowned. 'I'm not sure. Kind of. We've kissed a couple of times and I did pull him along for some sightseeing, but it's…'

'Complicated?' Eileen filled in with a knowing gaze.

'Yeah,' Ron agreed on a sigh.

'Don't worry about it. Everything about Tom is complicated. Just be thankful that you managed to get a kiss or two out of him. That's more than what anyone else has ever got,' Eileen told him.

Ron smirked at her again. 'I'm flattered.'

By that time Abraxas and Theodore had turned up so conversation swiftly turned to what everyone had been doing over the holidays, giving time for Ron to mull over his feelings for Tom. He was definitely not the world-domination maniac he remembered from the future and that comforted Ron even as it worried him.

But he knew, as he settled down next to Tom in the compartment he had found for Ron and the others, that there was little that could be done about it at the moment.

Besides, as he looked at that handsome face and stormy grey eyes, he knew that he would do anything to keep harm from coming to their owner.

Oh, yes. Ron knew too well the signs and recognized that, whoever Tom Riddle really was; Ron was slowly but most definitely falling for him. And, if he wasn't very much mistaken, the boy returned the feelings.

He _was _a very complicated person, but Ron knew that from the moment he had came to know and interact with the boy next to him. His past, though, wasn't nearly as complicated as he made it out to be. It was turbulent, yes and it had, without no doubt, left scars that he would carry with him for the rest of his life. But it was also pretty simple. He was abandoned, abused and then given a gift that he never dreamed of deserving – magic. That magic gave him a power over others, and having to abandon it for the holidays was, for him, like giving up the ability to speak and hear.

'So, Ron, what did you do over the holidays?' Theodore said, swiftly turning the conversation back to Ron and Tom.

Ron yawned. 'I saved him from his orphanage by inviting him to stay with me, and then spent the rest of the time lazing about London with Riddle here,' he drawled lazily at them.

'And he didn't bite your head off?' Abraxas said, staring unblinkingly at him, shocked and amazed by the information.

Ron jokingly raised a hand to check if his head was still in place, ignoring Tom's raised eyebrows and Eileen chuckling quietly. 'Nope. My head's still here.'

'Wow,' Abraxas marvelled, shaking his head. 'And you two are officially together? That is going to be the talk of the year, seriously.'

Ron sniggered. 'Boy, Tom, think about all the beautiful and innocent hearts that you're breaking around here. I can almost hear their tearing and breaking, loud and clear as day - '

'You're talking about fans that stalk me non-stop here,' Tom hissed dangerously.

'–I feel so bad that I am destroying their dreams that was built up over the years. I mean, getting the frozen heart of the Slytherin Prince to warm up to their loving and passionate heart, how hard can it be?'

Eileen was laughing out loud by this time. 'Ron! That was - ' she managed to get out.

'Hilarious? I know, the joker runs in the blood. Oh, not to leave up the hot and steamy - ' Ron continued, watching as his fellow housemates tried to gasp for breath while fighting to control their crazy laughter, and watching Tom Riddle shooting daggers at him.

'Sorry,' Eileen said once she'd calmed down. 'That's just so funny, you don't get someone who could actually get away with such jokes, especially one that revolves around Tom's fan club.'

Ron smiled ruefully, agreeing with her. It was a good thing to laugh hard at.

It was then that Abraxas noticed something that almost managed to slip past their notice amidst their laughter.

'Wait, he called you 'Tom',' Abraxas said to Tom, the curiosity obvious in his tone.

'It is my name,' the prefect replied stiffly, turning his gaze out of the window.

'Yeah, but–'

'Abraxsa, better leave it,' Eileen warned him. 'They'll tell us when they want to.'

Ron smiled gratefully. He and Tom really did not feel like trying to explain their deeper relationship to the others. Eileen had been okay, but she had understood. The dark eyed girl seemed to look at the world differently, more perceptively than most. Pity, really, that Snape hadn't inherited that characteristic of his mother – maybe then he would not have been so prejudiced against Harry and his unwanted fame.

Ron, you alright there?' Theodore asked, reaching out to nudge Ron, who was spacing out for a while.

'Huh? Oh, yeah,' Ron replied with a flicker of a smile – gone as soon as it came.

'Remembering the past again?'

'Mm,' was Ron's only response. He _really_ didn't want to talk about the past.

Sure, he had grown to love and respect his new friends, but they were different. They would never replace the gaping holes in his life that the deaths of his friends and family had left.

In some ways, that was a good thing, but in others… Ron was just the tiniest bit homesick.

Luckily the others took the hint and turned to a new topic – quidditch.

Ron listened half-interestedly, but was under no inclination to join the quidditch team of the past.

Firstly, it would be weird, playing against the red and gold team, rather than with and secondly it was too much of a reminder of his past. He wanted to be able to let go.

So Ron tuned out the excited talk of his friends, not really noticing as another of the Slytherin boy chose to stay out of the conversation. Not really noticing as Tom's hand clasped his as they both stared out of the carriage window. Not really noticing that he fell asleep against Ron's shoulder. Not really noticing Tom's tiny, curving smile as he did so, or the speculative gazes of their friends. Not really noticing the utter contentment that settled over the small group.

Small group? Ron abruptly remembered, their group was supposed to consist of eight people in total. But they only had five in the compartment.

"Guys, have you seen Carson, Leuthon and Sherleen?" He posed the question, halting the conversations that were taking place, and waking up Tom, "Sorry," Ron directed the apology at Riddle, and the latter shrugged, not really bothered.

Abraxas frowned, "I have absolutely no idea, do we search for them?"

Ron hesitated, and was caught up by the feeling of guilt and discomfort. Though the eight of them always stick together on the front, appearing to be like a gang of some sort to the rest of the school, they were always closer in threes. For example, perhaps Ron, Riddle and Eileen were one. Eileen, Ron, Theodore and Abraxas were another. Then Carson, Leuthon and Sherleen were one. They were always quiet, thought Sherleen and Eileen were pretty close, since they were both girls.

But on the whole, Ron realized that he didn't really know much about the missing trio, and they might have more to them than he realized...

"There isn't a need to, we're here." That deep voice of Carson spoke out, revealing the trio at the door, Carson and Sherleen supporting Leuthon, who was looking really pale and sickly. The four of them, minus Riddle, he was deep in thought, rushed to help Leuthon to take a seat opposite Riddle.

After they all seated down, Carson and Leuthon took the seat furthest away from Ron, and the redhead lifted an eyebrow, "Explain" was all that he said, and the group flinched as he tended to Leuthon, casting several spells, checking for his condition.

"We – " Sherleen began, but she was stopped by everyone, including Riddle and Ron, as wisps of smoke emerged from Ron's wand. Next, the dark smoke formed into words on an imaginary parchment:

_Leuthon Flint – Male – 16 Years Old – Doraee – Matured Magical Creature – Current Condition: Critical _

Doraee? Ron struggled to remember what he had read up on that magical species, and got it, but it was Eileen who spoke up, eyes widened, "The Doraee is like Vampires, for they have wings and doesn't age after they turned of age. Their wings' color reflects their aura, and their mate's. They feed on the element of their aura and the auras present are: Fire, Water, Wind, Ice, Earth, Forest, Dark and Light. When they turned of age on their birthday, they are in a critical state for they need to be exposed to all the elements of the auras possible and identify it, then finding its mate."

Everyone, other than Eileen, Ron and Riddle, stared at the illusion and Leuthon, dumbstruck.

"Where did you find him?" Riddle spoke, his voice velvet and soft, but lethal all the same.

Sherleen looked as though she was going to cry soon, "We – we were nearly late for the train, but we got on and found him lying on the corridor, looking so sick and pale. What can we do for him?"

Ron waved his wand in the air, muttering the incantation in concentration, and the others look on, silent. When he was done with the spells, the others quickly scampered away as the space they were in were concentrated with magic and energy. Ron grabbed the Daily Prophet that Eileen had brought onto the train and watched as it burst into flame, suspended into flame, startling everyone, and Sherleen even screamed.

"Calm down," Ron snarled as he concentrated some more. He grabbed Theodore's cup of water, and shaped the water into a ball, also suspended in the air. Then, he flung the window of their compartment open and muttered some more incantation, smiling as the wind flowed into the room, forming a really small whirl wind, again, suspended, placed right next to the water element. After obtaining some earth, a cluster of green leaves and sunlight, they were only short of the last element.

Darkness.

How was he supposed to summon darkness? It would be far too dangerous; he wouldn't want werewolves, vampires and dementors to come rushing here. Glancing at the others, he spoke, "Does anyone has any books that are about the dark arts, just give me one!"

Without speaking, Abraxas took down his necklace, his family crest, and handed it out. "It has the dark arts for protection against danger," he explained and Ron accepted the necklace, thanking the Malfoy.

Finally, the elements were complete. With Eileen's help, he remembered the chant that they needed to summon the Doraee within Leuthon.

Lumea ascultă (The world listens)  
Dă-ne binecuvântarea ta (Grant us your blessing)  
Pentru a naşterii unui tanar (To the birth of a young on)  
Ajutaţi-ne să găsim calea (Help us find the way)  
Pentru sufletul lui, destinul (To his soul, his destiny)  
Să-l îmbrăţişeze elementul (Let the element embrace him)

(Sorry about the bad Romanian, I really suck at this, and I apologize if I don't explain things about Leuthon clearly...)

Wide-eyed, all of them focused on the raven haired boy, stunned when the blob of water found its way to the unconscious boy and entered him.

"His element is water."

I am shouting bloody REVIEW at everyone I see, now, how about starting with YOU! Yes, you! If you don't review, I am gonna kick you – 

Just kidding, I would just keep asking you too. 

Really. KEEP asking.

So, Review?


	11. Chapter 11: Together Forever?

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own Harry Pawter!

If there's anything you need  
All you have to do is say  
You know you satisfy everything in me  
We shouldn't waste a single day

So don't stop me falling  
It's destiny calling  
A power I just can't deny  
It's never changing  
Can't you hear me, I'm saying  
I want you for the rest of my life

Together forever and never to part  
Together forever we two  
And don't you know  
I would move heaven and earth  
To be together forever with you

If they ever get you down  
There's always something I can do  
Because I wouldn't ever wanna see you frown  
I'll always do what's best for you

There ain't no mistaking  
It's true love we're making  
Something to last for all time  
It's never changing  
Can't you hear me, I'm saying  
I want you for the rest of my life

By the time Leuthon finally woke up from his state of unconsciousness, they had already reached their destination. A decision was made and Carson and Sherleen were left to explain the things that took place to the confused Slytherin.

"We'll meet up later in the common room," Tom said, a silent command present in those simple words. Everyone nodded and made their way down the train. They arrived earlier than normal at Hogsmeade station and were greeted by the usual horseless carriages that were waiting to take them up to the castle. Ron paused to pat the nose of the thestral pulling their carriage, before climbing on.

The others looked at him in incuriosity, some wondering what he was patting, others wondering how he could pat the thestrals, such as Tom, but Eileen had smiled. She could see them too, and Ron raised his eyebrows at this, realizing that he really ought to get to know the young Miss Snape better.

Maybe it was too much to try and save her as well as the world, but right now the world didn't seem to be doing so badly.

Ron and Tom found that when they clasped hands to go to the Great Hall it no longer surprised anyone. In fact, Eileen went up to link her arm through Ron's free one.

'So, tell me Ron, how are you two going to work things out?' she asked.

It was a loaded question and they both knew it. Ron chose not to answer, only smirking at his insightful friend and raising an eyebrow at her, asking her why she didn't already know.

Eileen laughed and shook her head despairingly.

Dinner that night for the sixth form Slytherins was a light affair. Ron cautiously greeted and nodded to the other Slytherins who hadn't shared their train compartment. Then they settled down into light conversation about the holidays and the various exploits of the twins (Carson and Sherleen) who, despite their quite, studious appearance, knew exactly how to rile people up.

Leuthon wasn't here, having excused himself after their conversation in their usual meet up place. All of them had talked about it, Leuthon revealing, rather reluctant, that his grandaunt was half-Doraee. How it had become a full-Doraee when it reached him, none of them can make sense of that. Frowning, Ron was deep in thought about the whole thing, while Riddle observed the redhead beside him.

It was shortly before dessert was served when Ron caught sight of a familiar mop of hair on the other side of the hall.

'Excuse me, I'm just going to greet Harry,' he told his friends, ignoring the warning that Theodore gave and the raised eyebrows of Tom. He made his way along the end of the tables until he reached the Gryffindor room, ignorant of the fact that by the time he reached the opposite side of the hall almost everyone's eyes were turned to him.

'Hey, Harry,' he greeted the black haired boy, who stood and turned to give him a rib-cracking hug. He, too, was ignoring the glares of his fellow Gryffindors and the Slytherins and the interested, slightly afraid, gazes of the other half of the school.

'Hey Ron!' he said, letting the redhead go and grinning widely. How was your holiday? Hope you had a good one.'

'The best, you?' he replied, drawling the words for the benefit of his classmates, but eyes flashing with the real humour he felt.

'Not bad, not bad. I'll see you sometime tomorrow,' the Gryffindor volunteered.

'Sure, see you around.' And with that Ron made his casual way back to the Slytherin table, only noticing the silence when he looked at his friends, all of whom were looking at him at various stages of astonishment. Except for Eileen, who was too interested in her food.

'What?' Ron asked, slightly affronted. 'He's my friend, too.'

'We know, but did you have to do it during dinner, in front of everyone and make such a scene?' Theodore asked, rolling his eyes.

Ron, of course, sniggered. 'Yeah,' he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Riddle only responded by raising the eyebrow that wasn't already at his hairline.

'Oh, shush, Theodore,' Eileen chastised. 'If Ron wants to bring Harry's attention to this table, _I'm_ not complaining.'

That caused another round of sniggers and broke the tension, everyone turning back to the dessert that had appeared on the table. Ron looked up to see Tom's gaze still on him, and discretely nudged his foot under the table, essentially reminding him where he was. His expression did not change, but his eyes warmed a little and he too turned his attention to the black forest gateau.

'Students,' Dippet introduced himself when the food was either finished or cleared away. 'I am sure you are all wondering what happened before the holidays, and we are pleased to announce that it was nothing more than a magical accident and Mr. Wilson will be returning to us shortly before the summer exams, once Professor Slughorn has concocted the potion Madame Hollis needs. Now, I wish all of you goodnight and good luck with studying for your exams after the half term holiday.'

A universal groan went up and Ron saw Dumbledore's eyes twinkling merrily.

Ron himself was unworried about the exams. They would, of course, not be exactly the same as the ones that he had taken at the end of his first time round the sixth year, but he had extra years practice this time round.

There were five weeks before the one week holiday, and then two weeks of exams. Ron had no doubt that the rest of the school year and the year above and below would be studying fantastically hard. Ron could still remember Hermione's chastising when she had caught Ginny and Harry kissing in the library, rather than studying.

Sighing, Ron stood with the rest of the school, pushing Theodore away when he draped an arm around Ron, laughing at his and the other boys' antics. It was friendly and comfortable, this kind of banter. He watched Theodore's eyes linger on Eileen and rolled his own eyes.

Really, for someone so insightful, Eileen had no idea of Theodore's crush on her. Not that he had a clue she had a crush on him either. Ron glanced up at Tom, who had also seen where Theodore's gaze.

'Not tempted to play matchmaker?' he asked Ron, once again taking Ron's hand in his.

'Oh, definitely. But I'll leave them to figure it out for themselves first,' Ron replied, ignoring Tom's disbelieving face.

The sixth year Slytherins walked together down to the common room, Ron and Tom bringing up the rear; watching their classmates joke around and catch up with each other. It was a good thing, too, or else the others would have seen Tom's face suddenly light up with excitement and just a little fear. Ron saw, though. He had seen it and knew what it meant.

'The Basilisk?' he questioned softly. Tom answered with an abrupt nod.

'You should go and talk to her, then.'

'How do you know it's a girl-basilisk?' Tom questioned curiously.

Ron shrugged, offering a half smile. He turned to face Tom, then took the back of Tom's head gently with one hand and softly pulled him close, and kissed him. It was fierce, passionate, but at the same time caring and loving. Just like Ron himself, Tom secretly mused.

'Remember who you are,' Ron breathed out across his lips when they drew back slightly.

He didn't know for sure, but he had a rather bad feeling about this. He kissed Tom again, softly and briefly this time, before letting the hand at his hair fall. Ron had not realized until then that Tom's strong pair of arms had come around him too.

Tom kissed him one last time before letting Ron go and disappearing off in the other direction. Ron kiss had left his mind a little befuddled, but it had been oh-so-nice and wonderful and told him so much about the mysterious redhead. Ron could love like that kiss; he had never before realized that passion could be gentle too.

Ron watched him leave with a slight, dreamy smile on his lips. He turned back to see all of the Slytherins staring at him expectantly. Eileen, too, was waiting for him, but without the same expectation.

'Is there something you want to tell us officially?' Theodore asked, jabbing Ron playfully in the ribs as he came up to join them, all of them aware of the "frozen" mass of students around them, all of whom were trying to hear Ron's reply to Theodore's question.

'No,' Ron replied honestly.

'Aw, you know you want to! Just tell us already!' Abraxas said, poking Ron lightly on the other side.

'Uh, the rest of you, some help needed here, take a hint, will you?' Ron asked plaintively of Eileen, and the rest of the group.

The others just laughed and Eileen shook her head. 'Nope, I want to hear this just as much as they do.'

Ron pouted, but the others just ganged up on him and dragged him for the rest of the way to their dormitory and then demanded the full story. Ron tried pleading the fifth, but none of the other knew what that meant and would undoubtedly not have let Ron get away with it anyway.

'I don't want to tell you guys anything,' Ron whined at them as they tried, yet again, to pry the story from him.

'No, but we want to know,' Leuthon reminded him.

Ron turned his despairing gaze to all the occupants of the room, who had yet to say anything. 'Help?' he asked again, this time to all of them.

To his immense frustration, the entire house actually shook their heads! 'We want to hear this too," they said, grinning the Slytherin signature evil grin.

'Yeah, Tom's never shown interest in anyone, much less kissed them,' Leuthon mutterd, Carson and Sherleen agreed quietly.

Ron huffed, 'Fine, you bunch of traitors.'

The other Slytherins all beamed back at him, leaning in eagerly.

'I rescued Tom from his orphanage over the holidays, since I was kind of lonely on my own and he was the only one whose address I knew. Whilst we were at the hotel the staff there… presumed we were a gay couple and sent us loads of chocolate and things. We didn't see reason to correct them.'

'So you're _together_?' Theodore said on a breath.

The redhead frowned at him, "Well, we are, I guess. '

Eileen went over and sat next to Ron, whispering in his ear so the others wouldn't hear.

'That isn't everything, is it? I've noticed that Tom comes back after the holidays a lot worse off than when he leaves, but he came back this time just the same. Talk to me about it sometime?'

'You won't tell? Tom would probably blow up if he found out I told you, let alone anyone else,' Ron replied, just as quietly, but twice as nervously.

Eileen gazed at Ron for a long time before answering. 'I promise not to tell. Perhaps there are some secrets that I have and don't want to be the only one knowing them anymore.'

Ron nodded in understanding. He liked Eileen, and could see that the girl had something she wanted, perhaps needed to tell Ron. Since the redhead had never been able to turn away from someone who had seriously needed his help before, and now was not the time for him to start, so Ron grinned and gave Eileen an impromptu hug.

'You know,' Eileen said, laughing. 'You hug people way more often than a normal guy, especially a Slytherin guy. And a Slytherin guy that happens to be with Tom.' The others hastily agreed with her.

'Oh, you're just jealous that I got a hug out of Theodore and you didn't,' Ron whispered , childishly sticking his tongue out. Eileen blushed and the girls, sensing weakness, turned like a pack of proverbial hyenas to the scent of new blood.

The seven Slytherins talked late into the night, only finally collapsing into sleep when the Head Girl, a fellow Slytherin with very straight blonde hair blasted into the room, shouting about the noise before charming their lights so that they would not turn on again until the following day.

In the darkness, before making his way to his room, Ron caught Eileen's eye and winked at her. The girl replied with her own wink before they went to their individual rooms and drifted off to sleep, thoughts tumbling and strange as they tried to figure out the way their lives were heading.

It was because of this that Ron fell asleep before Tom Riddle came back, with a different air around him...

Updating! You know it's because you guys love me! Okay, holidays will end on Monday, depressing for me! I would still try to update as much as possible, though.


	12. Chapter 12: I am blind

A creepy song for a creepy chapter! 

Disclaimer: Nope, no owning Harry Pawter here!

* * *

My victims are rich or poor, young or old, strong or weak  
I cause millions of accidents, I am cancer in your bones  
I fathered the lie, twist what you say, speak not the truth  
I am insidious, impartial, deep inside your chromosomes

I take what you love, and leave you in tears  
I imprison your soul, your hopes are my games  
I strip you of pride, my promise is in vain  
While you burn at the stake I dance with the flames

I bring poverty, sickness and death  
A worthless handshake, the slickest thief, I steal your wealth  
I answer your prayers for greed and lust  
More than evil, I laugh at your trust

I am more powerful than all the armies of the world  
I am more violent than violence, more deadly than death  
I have destroyed more men than all the nation's wars  
I am relentless, unpredictable, waiting for your last breath

Evil, more evil than violence  
Violent, more violent than death  
Deadly, more deadly than man  
yeah, yeah, I'm evil I am

My kingdom corrupt with dissent  
Your sins erupt by my intent  
I loathe your prayer, I wallow in sin  
Let the nightmare begin  
Prince of darkness, your satanic highness  
Prince of darkness, the devilish serpent, the dreaded Lucifer  
Prince of darkness

I take what you love, and leave you in tears  
Imprison your soul, your hopes are my games  
I strip you of pride, my promise is in vain  
While you burn at the stake I dance with the flames

My kingdom corrupt with dissent  
Your sins erupt by my intent  
I loathe your prayer, I wallow in sin  
Let the nightmare begin  
Prince of darkness, your satanic highness  
Prince of darkness, the devilish serpent, the dreaded Lucifer  
Prince of darkness

Prince of darkness, your satanic highness  
Prince of darkness, the most beautiful angel  
Prince of darkness, the devilish serpent, the dreaded Lucifer  
Prince of darkness, unpredictable, the prince of darkness

* * *

The next morning something was different. No one could tell what exactly was wrong, it just was.

The sixth year Slytherins went down as normal, causing their entrance and sitting down sedately, as if they didn't know every single eye in the hall was turned towards them.

Ron hid his grin and winked across the table at Riddle, who did not respond. He saw the action, but there was no flash of familiarity in his eyes – no sense of amusement at all. He blinked at Ron and continued to eat his food.

The redhead frowned at the action but thought maybe it was just their return to Hogwarts that had his change in mood. Ron's mind wandered back to the first date in the enchanted diary that his sister had once found and he tried hard to pretend that it didn't bother him. And for the most part, he succeeded.

Ron walked to the first lesson of the day, Charms, with Eileen and Sherleen, leaving the rest to take their own sweet time. 'So, what's wrong?' Eileen prompted as soon as they were out of ear shot.

'Tom, he's acting weird,' Ron said quietly, then shook it off, saying in a falsely bright tone, 'but – but I'm sure it's nothing.' Eileen raised a questioning eyebrow at him, but the other girl decided not to push it, choosing instead to compliment Sherleen about the bright pink of their usually green Slytherin emblem on her cloak, ignoring the glare that Sherleen had sent her way.

Obviously someone had hexed her last night, secretly.

This plan to distract from the topic of Tom failed, though, 'Aw, come on, Prince. It's hardly my fault that Tom was in a particularly vindictive mood this morning, now is there?'

Eileen winced at Tom's name, realizing that it had been the wrong thing to say.

'Tom's in a mood this morning?' Ron said, jumping to the subject like a dog to a bone.

'Don't get me wrong, Tom's always in a mood in the mornings–' Ron nodded, remembering the mornings during the holiday when he'd tried to get him up early. '–but he was in even more of a mood this morning than usual.'

'Ron?' Eileen prodded gently, seeing the look on her friend's face.

Ron turned to Eileen with concerned thoughtfulness written all over his feature. 'I'm not sure, Eileen. I have my theories, though. I guess we'll just have to wait until third period.'

'Potions?' Eileen asked in momentary confusion.

Ron quickly confirmed that, 'Potions. With Slughorn as a teacher and Tom as my partner.'

The other girl swiftly picked up the significance as they arrived at the Charms classroom and filtered through the doorway, both of them turning back to teasing poor Sherleen about her badge.

Friendly conversation soon started up, but was cut across as their teacher entered the room.

Shortly after their professor's arrival it became clear – to Ron's delight – that they would be talking about animagi. This was not a subject that would be covered in the future, so the material was new. Since Ron was becoming more determined than ever to become and animagus, he fell upon the information greedily, his notes more scribbled and accurate than any that he had taken in previous weeks – even years.

Eileen watched him with a very slight smirk on her face – the two of them both had a free period next, so she'd be sure to get to the bottom of it then. As for the teacher – he was a little baffled by the sudden attention from a student who previously had not paid much attention, but as all good teachers do, he recognized that thirst for knowledge and found himself teaching three lessons worth of information in just one lesson simply for Ron's sake.

The rest of the class, though vaguely interested, spent the lesson doodling absently, contrary to Ron's fastidious attention.

Consequently the end of the lesson came far too soon for the teenager, who, after bidding Sherleen goodbye, found himself being cornered by the ever-perceptive Eileen.

'Have you started yet?' she asked, choosing not to introduce the topic of Animagi. They had, after all, been learning about it for the past hour.

'Started what?' Ron asked, feigning innocence.

Eileen rolled her eyes.

'The preliminary potion.'

_Duh_.

'I don't know what you're talking about, Eileen,' Ron muttered, desperately trying to create the image of confusion and failing miserably.

'I'm not going to turn you in, you know,' Eileen assured him.

'But…?' Ron continued, knowing that Eileen did not want to just stop there.

'But can I help? Become one too?' the other girl asked, fluttering her long, dark eyelashes at him in a pleading way. Ron sighed and ran a hand through his fiery red hair.

He didn't want to say no, but he didn't want to say yes, either. Eileen was one of the closest friends he had in this time, and if Ron had been planning this _before_, he most certainly would have told Harry – and probably Hermione, Ginny, Luna and Neville too.

But he still felt alienated in this time. To him, it wasn't real, not really.

It may be a life or death situation for hundreds that he was holding in his hands, but the whole situation was so surreal.

It was one huge game that he only had one go at.

If he failed, he'd probably die, along with the rest of the light side in the future.

If he succeeded, he'd probably have to disappear in a puff of non-existence.

Either way, on a personal level, it was a lose-lose situation.

'Yes, OK,' Ron agreed after a couple moments' hesitation.

A slow grin spread across Eileen's face, her obsidian eyes glittering.

'But no one else can know. I have reasons beyond just wanting to try it out, and it needs to be kept secret.'

Eileen looked at him for a long moment, and shook her head very slightly, 'It has something to do with Tom and you aren't going to tell me, are you?'

It wasn't really a question.

'I'm sorry, Eileen. I have a million and one secrets that I'm bursting to tell everyone – anyone. But I can't. I just can't. One day, maybe, I'll be able to tell you about it,' Ron paused for a moment, timidly bringing his eyes meeting Eileen's as he made his promise, 'One day, when we're wrinkled and old and have our grandchildren running around our feet I'll tell you the truth. The whole truth – everything. I doubt you'll believe it, and pass it off as senility, but I _will_ tell you.'

The words _'If we live that long,'_ hung between the two of them as they sat down in their usual spot in the library.

Neither of them spoke their doubts – not wanting to make their admission verbal – but it was there, almost palpable in the dusty atmosphere.

'Listen, Ron. Thank you. Something tells me that, if you could, you'd tell me everything right here and now. But there would be consequences,' Eileen started, uncertain where she was going.

Ron nodded his affirmation. 'And, unfortunately those consequences far outweigh my need to tell someone that I really trust. Tom, and you, followed by the others.'

Eileen studied her hands for a long moments, the thin, nimble fingers winding and twining around each other in constant movement. Then a thought struck her.

'Why don't you write it down?' she suggested.

'What – in a diary?' her friend asked hesitantly.

'Sure, why not?'

Ron blinked a couple of times before he realized that it really was a very good idea. The idea of writing in a diary certainly brought back bad memories, but there was no chance of a repeat performance – especially if he bought a notebook new. Ginny had slipped easily into writing in a book everyday years ago, it would be easy enough for Ron to slip into that habit, even if the book didn't reply.

It also sparked of another idea.

There was no reason to give up on Tom just yet, as he may well just be adjusting back into school life, but if he ever did turn into the same boy that Ron had wished for, then he needed a plan. And now, thanks to Eileen's suggestion, he had one. And it wasn't nearly as complicated as splintering his soul and forcing a bit into a diary in the hopes Tom might pick it up and write in it. Ron knew he was probably making a big deal out of nothing.

So what if Tom was in a mood this morning? – that was no abnormality, especially in the morning.

But that blankness in his eyes when Ron had winked at him earlier worried him. Tom's emotionless mask was good, but even he was not the infallible. Maybe for someone else, but not for Ron; not after the two weeks they had enjoyed in each other's company getting to know the other, from their talk to their silences.

'Ron, you alright?' Eileen asked nervously.

He glanced up and smiled apologetically. 'Sorry. Yeah, I will try the diary idea. It just made me think a lot about certain things.'

Eileen gave a carefree laugh. 'Things,' she repeated.

Ron grinned back, claiming innocence again. 'Things,' he confirmed.

The two of them looked at each other for a moment before a bout of unexplainable laughter overtook them for a few minutes, only fuelled by the furious glare of the librarian. They soon settled down into their studying, however. After all, Ron's notes were nearly illegible and they needed that information if they truly intended to go through with their plan.

Ron leant casually against the door frame of the potions classroom. All of his classmates were milling around, chatting quietly, but he had eyes for only one of them. And he had not arrived yet. To the casual onlooker it would seem as though he had fallen asleep standing up, his eyes closed and his head tilted so the honey red hair was mussed slightly by the wall. His school bag had slipped from his shoulder and was now pooled at his feet, blue ink slowly staining the flagstones, a clear sign it had been dropped.

But Ron was not asleep – far from it. He knew that his ink was leaking, but did not care – all the books had protection spells and with a flick of his wand the ink would return to the pot anyway.

But with his eyes closed, it was easy to sense other peoples' magic.

It wasn't a precise art, as lots of people had very similar magical abilities, but you could tell someone apart from others by the amount of magic they held. Most people did not know they had this ability to sense magic, and those who did know knew that it was mostly a waste of time.

Ron was one of those who knew that.

But with Harry and Tom it was not quite as pointless as it usually was. Ron's ex-best friend was cloaked in a soothing amount of power that, whilst it exceeded greatly those around him, could easily be mistaken for the average. It was a gentle, calming sort of power that took pride in its ability to sustain, rather than change.

Tom, on the other hand, was entirely different matter.

There was more than one reason why people did not enjoy being around him, whether they were consciously aware of it or not.

He _bristled_ with power.

Every movement he made could be sensed by feeling his magic and Ron had become acutely aware of this quite early on in their relationship. Being around that sort of magical capability was not painful, per se, more slightly discomforting. It was like when you bruised yourself; you knew it was there, couldn't help but notice, but it became a dull sort of ache in the background that you soon forgot even existed. Of course, Tom had become proficient in masking the power he emanated, but he usually didn't bother.

So, as Ron stood there looking as though he was asleep he was actually awaiting Tom's arrival. It wasn't like hearing or smelling, but it was a strange combination of the two.

Magic had a strange, sweet taste that tempted, yet threatened at the same time. The stronger it got, the more tangible it became, tasting stronger and smelling spicier. And that was exactly how Ron knew of Tom's arrival outside the Potion's classroom ten seconds before he turned the corner and became visible.

Visibly all he did was open his eyes and pick up his bag, a quick flick of his wand taking good care of the spilt ink. Then, he went back to leaning against the door frame, ignoring the class mates surrounding him and smiling benignly at the newcomer.

'Hey, Riddle,' he said casually.

It seemed like nothing more than his usual greeting – only the Slytherins would know he had adapted to calling the boy 'Tom' and he had only talked to Eileen enough for any of them to see it as different.

It was the first of a couple of subtle tests Ron had set for the boy.

'Kelestral,' the Slytherin acknowledged.

First test: He had failed.

But not to worry, they had only been calling each other by their first names for a day or so now.

'Back to surnames already? It was your suggestion I call you Tom in the first place.'

There was a silence of only about a second, but it was long enough for Ron to know something was definitely not right. Maybe not necessarily _wrong_, but certainly not right. Tom always had an answer or an excuse ready before you finished posing the question.

'But I did not imply that I would follow your example. You, after all, did not address me by my first name.'

That sounded a little more like him.

'True. But do call me Ron,' he insisted.

'As you wish,' Riddle acquiesced.

Now that _really_ didn't seem like Tom.

No matter what the subject or his opinions on it, if he could think of a way to oppose something with that much of an opening for an argument, he would take the opportunity. Not for any particular reason other than to disagree.

Slughorn chose that moment to make his entrance and shepherd the class into the potions lab. Tom stepped ahead of Ron and he allowed him to, following quietly and observing his movements. He sat where he usually did and did not react as he slid into the seat next to him, taking out his potions book and writing equipment.

It was at this point Ron realized that Tom did not have his bag.

'Do you want to borrow some parchment and a quill?' he asked him, already getting the spare out of his bag.

He nodded once and took the objects from Ron. He frowned once at the bend in the end of the quill, where the feather had broken and lay unevenly. Ron shrugged, a slight smirk dancing on the edges of his lips as he watched Riddle without a hint of apology. His equipment may not be the best, but they both knew his was worse.

'You have money, Ron, why not purchase a new pen?' he asked in an undertone as they began taking notes on Slughorn's lecture.

'I feel no great need. It still works and that is the important thing.'

'Perfection is prerequisite,' Tom murmured, more to himself than to Ron.

But he heard nonetheless.

'Prerequisite to what?' he inquired of him.

Tom stopped writing and glanced up. Ron felt chilled to the core as he watched his eyes that now seemed entirely grey – no hint of color in them at all.

A curious little smile settled on Tom's face. It was neither happy nor sad.

In fact, it was completely devoid of any kind of emotion at all. Yet there it was, curving across his face like it had been placed there by accident. Then he leant towards Ron's so that his lips were directly above Ron's ear.

'I have a secret, sweet little Ron,' he whispered no louder than a breath. 'But I can't tell you. Not yet. But soon I will. Very soon.'

His voice sent shivers down Ron's spine like never before and it took him a moment to realize that he too had stopped writing, his hand shaking slightly as it hovered above the paper. Then he recovered herself and continued writing, his own smile, matching Tom's, decorating his face.

Pretty little doll-smile, more fake than his pretence that everything was normal.

He leant back and continued writing. Then there was silence except for the scratching of quills. Even Slughorn's voice seemed to fade into nothingness as Ron read what Tom was now writing on a clean sheet of paper.

_**Tom Riddle Sr.**__ (1905-1943) was an affluent Muggle who lived in the town of Little Hangleton. He was the son of the wealthy Muggle couple Thomas and Mary Riddle. Tom was married for a short time to Merope Gaunt and was the father of Tom Marvolo Riddle, but he abandoned them and married someone else instead._

His pen paused then for an undeterminable amount of time. Perhaps it was mere seconds, but for either of them it could have been hours.

_Tom Riddle Senior._

Ron's blood ran cold, his face going impossibly pale. Tom stopped writing then and pushed the paper towards him. He knew that Ron had read it – and he was expecting a response.

Uncertain on how to react, Ron slowly ran his shaking fingers over his elegant handwriting. In that truly beautiful script he had told Ron his father's life story in only a paragraph. Ron forced a slow smirk to creep across his face as he lowered his quill to the paper and began writing.

'Alright, class, you now have half an hour to complete the initial brewing. You will be completing the task on Thursday, off you go,' Slughorn announced and turned to sit at his desk, taking out a stack of papers and starting to go through them.

The students immediately moved to start the task, talk already bubbling up. Ron folded the paper neatly and walked around the desk to get to the store cupboard and retrieve his cauldron. The note fluttered from his fingers and landed on the desk before Riddle. Then Ron turned away, watching Riddle surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye.

He saw his fingers – as elegant as his scripture – unfolding the note and his mask breaking momentarily.

Riddle's normally pale skin turned that much whiter and his eyebrows rose considerably. But then the façade was back. And his emotionless smile was back in place.

Funny. Before now his mask had no expression at all.

Ron wondered vaguely where the smile had come from. As he turned fully away from him, Ron allowed a tiny, victorious smirk to grace his features, remembering what he had written back.

_Now that you know about him, what are you going to do? Are you capable to kill him with an unforgivable? To watch that very essence of life drain from his body?_

Perhaps he shouldn't have wrote about that. But it didn't really matter – he bet that Tom had that idea in his mind upon discovering who his father was, so why shouldn't he write his thought down?

Ron didn't like to think about how Riddle could possibly know all this, but for now he felt confident that he could taunt him for knowing only the truth, and not the future, unlike Ron.

The last half of the lesson passed almost exactly as it always did.

Riddle did not attempt to add the wrong ingredients to the potions of those working around them, but tried with extra vigour to spoil Ron's potion. Again and again, he added the wrong ingredients or gave the potion and extra half stir as Ron was occupied with preparing the next part. Ron did not know this potion, he had never studied it before, but he knew what counter acted the things that Tom had changed, so he acted without saying a word.

However, the redhead did not whistle like he did sometimes and only those who knew the dynamic between the pair could tell the difference between their usual working atmosphere and now. Before it had been – whilst not friendly – a companionable silence.

Now the air was thick with unspoken words, accusations, insults and they berated each other with their eyes.

By the end of the lesson, Ron's potion was exactly as it was supposed to be, though his cauldron contained somewhat more than the others. Slughorn noticed this and raised an eyebrow, a sympathetic twitch of his mouth the only sign that he knew what had been happening.

Oh, he had always known, but as he had yet to catch Riddle in the act there was very little the teacher could do. Ron packed his things away in continued silence, his throat thick with boiling fury.

The boy was insufferable!

Riddle watched Ron's actions with a slight show of actual amusement in the ever-constant smile-that-wasn't. Whilst he had failed in sabotaging Ron's work, he had succeeded in the main aim of his actions – infuriating the redhead. Ron followed his boyfriend-turned-nemesis from the room, his bag swinging and bouncing against his thigh, the brush of it against his school uniform and their footsteps the only noise as the rest of their classmates disappeared as quickly as possible down the corridor to get to lunch.

'How did you find out, Riddle?' Ron asked easily, quietly.

He had already reverted back to calling him 'Riddle' in his mind due to his actions.

'A little birdie told me,' Tom replied in an utterly serious tone.

'What other stories did your songbird sing?' Ron quipped, playing his game.

Riddle's smile grew ever so slightly and he turned his head a little so he could see Ron's expression.

'Oh she told me many things. Including the way my mother, of the purest blood ever known, let the little mudblood fuck her into the mattress like the wanton whore that she was.'

Ron stared at him in shock at his little outburst – the insults falling so casually from his tongue as though he was stating the state of the weather. This was not the Tom Riddle he had come to know over the last couple of months since Christmas. This was not the Tom Riddle he had spilled his heart and soul to all these months.

The Tom Riddle who had tried to infuriate Ron repeatedly, only to see that blush that take over Ron's entire face, according to Tom.

Pity he had failed, really.

As it was, Tom's words were the final straw for Ron. Riddle's magic may be strong, but it was relaxed and almost… hampered by something.

In contrast, Ron was a burning pit of emotions, each one sparking and fuelling his magic so that it reached an energy level it had only ever once reached before when Ron had been told the final battle had started before anyone was ready.

Back then, he had been incensed. Now, he was absolutely furious.

Tom Riddle was standing before him with a broad smirk telling Ron that he knew exactly what he was trying to do, but Ron was, for once, happy to let the Slytherin rile him up. If it ended up with the Slytherin getting what he deserved (and Ron would see to it that it would) he was quite happy to follow his lead.

Tom stood there and practically beckoned to Ron to attack him. Blinded by his flaring temper, Ron disregarded his wand and his magic totally, choosing instead to punch him squarely on the jaw. Unfortunately, he had never really punched anyone before, since in the Magical world, it was considered a Muggle behavior, and so the power behind it was lost in bad technique – making Ron's hand hurt as much as Tom's jaw should.

But Riddle did not seem to want to attack back.

He just continued to smirk at Ron.

Ron lunged towards Riddle and the dagger that the Slytherin had drawn from his pocket slipped easily between the material of Ron's jumper and jeans, then sliding like it was penetrating butter between the redhead's ribs.

Ron, somehow did not stop moving and managed to slam Riddle bodily against the wall behind him, the only sign he gave of receiving a wound was the slight intake of breath that caused his breathing to falter a moment before it once again evened out.

Placing his left hand over the wound, Ron then carefully withdrew the blade with his free hand. He looked up at Tom's cool, nonchalant gaze and thrust the weapon through Tom's left hand, finally getting a furious, roaring response.

Gasping, he staggered backwards a couple of steps, watching stoically as Riddle howled, his hand bleeding almost as quickly as Ron's stomach. No doubt someone would have heard them and would be heading down to find out what was wrong, but right now Ron really couldn't bring himself to care that much. Then, somehow, he managed to find a peace within the swirling whirlpool of his emotions – the eye of the storm.

He clamped both hands over the point where the dagger had entered him and once again looked up to meet Riddle's gaze.

'Are you scared yet, Tom?' he asked calmly, his dark blue eyes seeming almost black.

'Is breathing suddenly difficult? Is your heartbeat getting faster and faster? Because if it isn't then you're a fool.' The raven haired boy snarled.

He let his eyes fluttered shut, and his face looking terribly pale and drawn. Then he leant against Riddle, one hand reaching up to clutch the blade wedged into the wall, the other trying to staunch his own blood flow, but only spreading the dark, sticky substance everywhere.

Then, he leant up and pressed a kiss to Riddle's jaw.

'Do you remember this?' he asked. Riddle turned towards Ron, trying to figure it out, but all in vain. Ron then pressed his pale lips to Riddle's, fiercely trying to bring him back, trying to get his Tom back.

But Tom did not respond to him and Ron felt his legs start to tremble beneath him, about to give out.

'Don't you remember at all?' he asked desperately.

Riddle watched dispassionately as Ron then fell to the ground, the dark stain of his blood growing larger by the second. With a little difficulty Tom managed to wrench the dagger from his hand and the wall.

He leant over the redhead on the floor and wiped the blade quickly on his robes before he slipped it back into his pocket. Casting a healing spell on his hand, Riddle stepped over Ron's prone body and walked off with a slight spring in his step.

As he walked away, he whistled a childish tune – a silly little song magic folk teach their children.

Didn't Mama tell you that I'm blind,  
And not to take what is mine?  
Didn't she warn you to watch your back,  
Cos in the dark he will attack?

Didn't Mama tell you that blood is red,  
And that it looks good when it's running straight?  
Didn't she warn you to avoid the alleys,  
Cos he might grab you and crush you knees?

Didn't Mama tell you that screams are music,  
And that it sounds best when you have lose it?  
Didn't she warn you not to lose faith,  
Cos once you're dead it will be okay?

Didn't Mama tell you that I'm blind,  
And never to take away what is mine?  
Didn't she warn you I am never kind,  
Cos I will soak your eyes in wine?

-Sylver-

* * *

I am proud of myself! The poem is creepy, right? Review, review!


	13. Update

Dear all,

I understand that you have placed this story under your "story alert" and I really appreciate the support, and the reviews for me to continue this story despite the fact that I found my writing style to be really bad and school to be too busy for me to carry on writing.

For people who are keeping watch on "Trainwreck", I think you will be pleased to know that I am in the middle of writing Chapter Seven and that I will be uploading it tomorrow, 7th September, 2011. Tonight, I will also be editing all the chapters and rewriting them, so please be patient and you will not be disappointed (I hope?).

As for the other fictions:

When Hell Freezes Over

Crimson Rose

Picture Blank

Special For You

Interceding Fate

I will be rewriting these stories earliest by the mid-October, because I plan to finish writing Trainwreck before moving on to the other stories. Please bear with me, I promise I will get to the other stories very soon.

Also, for anyone who are Gleeks or fans of the British boy group, One Direction, I am considering the possibility of writing fan fictions for the two of them, so just bump me up using the means below! Pester me, offer me ideas or ask me questions. I have disabled the ability to accept PMs for for now, so these are the ways to contact me.

Twitter: Stella1DLove

Tumblr: sylverster. tumblr .com (remove the spaces)

Polyvore: jasmine111196

That's for now, so…this is just a notification to tell you all that I am ready to start writing again!

Love,

Sylverster


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